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COURTIN’ 

CHRISTINA 


J. J. BELL 





COURTIN’ CHRISTINA 


BY 

BELL 

AUTHOR OF 

“wee MACGREGOR,” “jIM,” 
**0H! CHRISTINA,” ETC. 



HODDER & STOUGHTON 
NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



Copyright, 1913 

By George H. Doran Company 


TO 

J. E. HODDER WILLIAMS 


WHO SUGGESTED IT 



COURTIN’ CHRISTINA 



CHAPTER ONE 


Mrs. Robinson conveyed sundry dishes from 
the oven, also the teapot from the hob, to the 
table. 

‘‘ Come awa’,’’ she said briskly, seating herself. 
‘‘We’ll no’ wait for Macgreegor.” 

“ Gi’e him five minutes, Lizzie,” said Mr. Robin- 
son. 

“ I’m in nae hurry,” remarked Gran’paw Purdie, 
who had come up from the coast that afternoon. 

“ I’m awfu’ hungry. Maw,” piped a young voice. 

“ Whisht, Jimsie,” whispered daughter Jeannie. 

Said Mrs. Robinson, a little impatiently : 
“ Come awa’, come awa’, afore everything gets 
spiled. Macgreegor has nae business to be that 
late.” She glanced at the clock. “ He’s been the 
same a’ week. Haste ye, John.” 

John opened his mouth, but catching his wife’s 
eye, closed it again without speech. 

Excepting Jimsie, they came to the table rather 
reluctantly. 

“ Ask a blessin’, fayther,” murmured Lizzie. 

9 


lO 


Courtin' Christina 


“ Shut yer eyes/’ muttered Jeannie to her little 
brother, while she restrained his eager paw from 
reaching a cookie. 

Mr, Purdie’s Avhite head shook slightly as he said 
grace; he had passed his five and seventieth birth- 
day, albeit his spirit was cheerful as of yore; in his 
case old age seemed to content itself with an occa- 
sional mild reminder. 

John distributed portions of stewed finnan 
haddie, Lizzie poured out the tea, while Jeannie 
methodically prepared a small feast for the im- 
patient Jimsie. Gran’paw Purdie beamed on the 
four, but referred surreptitiously at brief intervals 
to. his fat silver watch. 

It is eight years since last we saw the Robinson 
family. Naturally we find the greatest changes in 
the younger members. Jimsie from an infant has 
become a schoolboy; he is taller, more scholarly, 
less disposed to mischief, more subdued of nature 
than was Macgregor at the same age; yet he is 
the frank, animated young query that his brother 
was, though, to be sure, he has a sister as well as 
parents to puzzle with his questions. At thirteen 
Jeannie is a comely, fair-haired little maid, serious 
for her years, devoted to Jimsie, very proud of 
Macgregor, and a blessing to her parents who, 
strangely enough, rarely praise her; her chief end 


Courtin' Christina 


II 


seems to be to serve those she loves without making 
any fuss about it. 

As for John, he has grown stouter, and to his 
wife’s dismay a bald spot has appeared on his 
crown; his laughter comes as readily as ever, and 
he is just as prone to spoil his children. But by 
this time Lizzie has become assured that her man’s 
light-hearted, careless ways do not extend to his 
work, that his employers have confidence in their 
foreman, and that while he is not likely to rise 
higher in his trade, he is still less likely to slip 
back. She is proud of the three-roomed modern 
flat in which she and hers dwell, and her sense for 
orderliness and cleanliness has not lost its keen- 
ness. In person she is but little altered: perhaps 
her features have grown a shade softer. 

‘‘ Ye see, Maister Purdie,” John was explaining, 
** Macgreegor’s busy the noo at a job in the west- 
end, an’ that’s the reason he’s late for his tea.” 

’Deed, ay. It’s a lang road for him to come 
hame,” said the old man. “ An’ is he still likin’ 
the pentin’ trade ? ” 

“Ay, ay. An’ he’s gettin’ on splendid — jist 
splendid ! ” 

“ It’s time enough to be sayin’ that,” Lizzie inter- 
posed. “ He’s no’ ony furder on nor a lad o’ his 
age ought to be. I’m no’ sayin’ he’s daein’ badly. 


12 


Courtin' Christina 


fayther; but there’s nae sense in boastin’ aboot 
what’s jist or’nar’? — Na, Jimsie! it’s no’ time for 
jeelly yet. Tak’ what Jeannie gi’es ye, laddie. — 
Ay, the least said ” 

But his employer’s pleased wi’ him ; he tell’t 
me as much, wife,” said John. “ An’ if ye com- 
pare Macgreegor wi’ that young scamp, Wullie 
Thomson ” 

Oh, if ye compare a man wi’ a monkey, I 
daresay it’s no’ sae bad for the man. But, really, 
John ” 

‘‘ Maw, where was the man wi’ the monkey ? ” 
enquired Jimsie through bread and butter. 

“ I’ll tell ye after,” whispered Jeannie, and forth- 
with set her mind to improvise a story involving a 
human being and his ancestor. 

It’s easy seen,” said Gran’paw, once more con- 
sulting his watch, “ that Macgreegor’s workin’ for 
his wages. Surely he’ll be gettin’ overtime the 
nicht. I hope his employer’s a kind man.” 

“ I’ve nae doot aboot that,” Lizzie returned. 

He gi’es Macgreegor money for the car when he’s 
workin’ in the west-end.” 

That’s a proper maister ! ” cried Mr. Purdie, 
while John smiled as much as to say, ‘‘ Ay ! he kens 
Macgreegor’s value ! ” 

‘‘ An’ I’m thinkin’,” Lizzie continued, “ that 


Courtin' Christina 


13 


Macgreegor walks hame an’ keeps the pennies to 
buy ceegarettes.” 

“ What ? ” exclaimed the old man ; has the lad- 
die commenced the smokin’ a’ready?” 

“ Oh, naething to speak aboot,” said John, a 
trifle apologetically. “ They commence earlier than 
they did in your day, I suppose, Maister Purdie. 
No’ that I wud smoke a ceegarette if I was paid 
for ’t.” 

He’s far ower young for the smokin’,” observed 
Lizzie. 

I can smoke,” declared Jimsie indiscreetly. 
Jeannie pressed his arm. 

John guffawed, Gran’paw looked amused until 
Lizzie demanded : What’s that ye’re sayin’, 

Jimsie?” 

‘‘ But I’m no’ a reg’lar smoker,” mumbled Jim- 
sie, crestfallen. 

‘‘ Ay,” said John, with a jocular wink at his 
father-in-law, ‘‘ye’re feart ye singe yer whiskers, 
ma mannie.” 

“ John,” said Lizzie, “ it’s naething to joke aboot. 
. . . Jimsie, if ever I catch ye at the smokin’. I’ll 
stop yer Seturday penny, an’ gi’e ye castor ile in- 
stead. D’ye hear ? ” 

“ Hoots ! ” cried Gran’paw, “ that’s a terrible 
severe-like punishment, Lizzie ! ” 


14 


Courtin' Christina 


“ I wud rayther tak' ile twicet an’ get ma penny,” 
quoth Jimsie. 

“Hear, hear!” from John. 

Lizzie was about to speak when the bell rang. 

Jeannie slipped from her chair. “ I’ll gang. 
Maw,” she said, and went out. 

“ It’s Macgreegor,” remarked John. “ Ha’e ye 
kep’ his haddie hot for him, Lizzie ? ” 

“ What for wud I dae that ? ” retorted Mrs. 
Robinson in a tone of irony, going over to the oven 
and extracting a covered dish. 

“ Haw! ” laughed John. “ I kent ye had some- 
thing there ! ” 

“ What for did ye ask then? ” 

She came back to the table as her son entered, a 
very perceptible odour of his trade about him — an 
odour which she still secretly disliked though nearly 
three years had gone since her first whiff of it. 
“What kep’ ye?” she enquired, pleasantly enough. 

It is possible that Macgregor’s dutiful greeting to 
his grandfather prevented his answering the ques- 
tion. He appeared honestly glad to see the old 
man; yet compared with his own the latter’s greet- 
ing was boisterous. He returned his father’s smile, 
glanced at his mother who was engaged in filling 
his cup, winked at his young brother, and took his 
place at the table, between the two men. 

“ Ye’ll be wearied.” remarked John. 


Courtin' Christina 


15 


“ No’ extra,” he replied, stretching his tired legs 
under cover of the table. 

‘‘Did ye walk?” his mother asked, passing him 
his tea. 

“ Ay.” 

“ It’ll be three mile,” said John. 

Jeannie came from the fire and put a fresh slice 
of toast on his plate. He nodded his thanks, and 
she went to her place satisfied and assisted Jimsie 
who had got into difficulties with a jam sandwich 
that oozed all round. 

“What way did ye no’ tak’ the car, laddie?” 
enquired Lizzie. 

“ I’d as sune walk,” he replied, shortly. 

“ It’s fine to save the siller — eh, Macgreegor ? ” 
said Mr. Purdie. 

Macgregor reddened. 

“ It’s something new for Macgreegor to dae 
that,” Lizzie quietly observed. 

“ Tits, wumman ! ” muttered John. 

“Wi’ their cheap cars,” put in Mr. Purdie, 
“ Glesga folk are like to loss the use o’ their legs. 
It’s terrible to see the number o’ young folk that 
winna walk if they’ve a bawbee in their pooch. 
I’m gled to see Macgreegor’s no’ yin o’ them.” He 
patted Macgregor’s shoulder as he might have done 
ten years ago, and the youth moved impatiently. 

“ I’m no’ complainin’ o’ Macgreegor walkin’ 


i6 


Courtin' Christina 


when he micht tak^ the car/^ said Lizzie, “ but I 
wud like to see him puttin' his savin's to some guid 
purpose." 

At these words Macgregor went a dull red, and 
set down his cup with a clatter. 

‘‘ Ha'e ye burnt yer mooth?" asked John, with 
quick sympathy. 

Naw," was the ungracious reply. It's nae- 
body's business whether I tak' the car or tramp it. 
See's the butter, Jeannie." 

There was a short silence. An outbreak of tem- 
per on Macgregor's part was not of frequent oc- 
currence. Then John turned the conversation to 
a big fire that had taken place in Glasgow the pre- 
vious night, and the son finished his meal in silence. 

At the earliest possible moment Macgregor left 
the kitchen. For some reason or other the desire 
to get away from his elders was paramount. A 
few minutes later he was in the little room which 
belonged to him and Jimsie. On the inside of the 
door was a bolt, screwed there by himself some 
months ago. He shot it now. With a towel that 
hung on the door he rubbed his wet face savagely. 
He had washed his hands in turpentine ere leaving 
the scene of his work. 

He donned a clean collar. As he was fixing his 
Sunday tie a summons came to the door. He went 
and opened it, looking cross. 


C our tin* Christina 


17 


“ Weel, what are ye wantin', Jimsie? " 

“Did ye bring ma putty, Macgreegor? 

“Och, I clean forgot." 

Jimsie’s face fell. “ Ye promised," he com- 
plained. 

Macgregor patted the youngster's head. “ I'll 
bring it the morn's nicht, as sure as death," he said. 
“ I'm sorry, Jimsie," he added apologetically. 

“ See an' no' forget again," said Jimsie, and re- 
tired. 

Macgregor closed the door and attended to his 
tie. Then he looked closely at his face in the mir- 
ror hanging near the window. He was not a par- 
ticularly good-looking lad, yet his countenance 
suggested nothing coarse or mean. His features 
as features, however, did not concern him now. 
From his vest pocket he brought a knife, with a 
blade thinned by stone and polished by leather. 
He tried its keen edge on his thumb, shook his 
head, and applied the steel to his boot. Presently 
he began to scrape his upper lip. It pained him, 
and he desisted. Not for the first time he wished 
he had a real razor. 

Having put the knife away, he looked at his 
watch — his grandfather's prize for “good con- 
duct "of eight years ago — and proceeded hastily 
to brush his hair. His hair, as his mother had 
often remarked during his childhood, was “ awfu' 


i8 


Courtin' Christina 


ill to lie/' For a moment or two he regarded his 
garments. He would have changed them had he 
had time — or was it courage? 

Finally he took from his pockets a key and two 
pennies. He opened a drawer in the old chest, and 
placed the pennies in a disused tobacco tin, which 
already contained a few coins. He knew very well 
the total sum therein, but he reckoned it up once 
more. One shilling and sevenpence. 

Every Saturday he handed his wages to his 
mother, who returned him sixpence. His present 
hoard was the result of two weeks’ abstinence from 
cigarettes and walking instead of taking the car. 
He knew the job in the west-end would take at least 
another week, which meant another sixpence, and 
the coming Saturday would bring a second sixpence. 
Total in the near future : — two shillings and seven- 
pence. He smiled uncertainly, and locked up the 
treasure. 

A minute later he slipped quietly into the pas- 
sage and took his cap from its peg. 

The kitchen door opened. Whaur are ye gaun, 
Macgreegor ? ” his mother asked. 

** Oot,” he replied briefly, and went. Going 
down the stairs he felt sorry somehow. Sons often 
feel sorry somehow, but mothers may never know it. 

When Lizzie, hiding her hurt, had shut the 
kitchen door, Mr. Purdie said softly : “ That 


Court in* Christina 


19 


question an' that answer, ma dear, are as auld as 
human natur'." 

As Macgregor turned out of the tenement close 
he encountered his one-time chum, Willie Thomson. 
Macgregor might not have admitted it to his par- 
ents, but during the last few weeks he had been 
finding Willie’s company less and less desirable. 

Willie now put precisely the same question that 
Mrs. Robinson had put a minute earlier. 

I’ll maybe see ye later,” was Macgregor’s 
evasive response, delivered awkwardly. He passed 
on. 

‘‘ Ha’e ye a ceegarette on ye ? ” cried Willie, tak- 
ing a step after him. 

Na.” 

“ Ye’re in a queer hurry.” 

‘‘ I’ll maybe see ye later,” said Macgregor again, 
increasing his speed in a curious guilty fashion. 

Willie made no attempt to overtake him. He, 
too, had been finding a certain staleness in the old 
friendship — especially since Macgregor had 
stopped his purchases of cigarettes. Willie was as 
often out of employment as in it, but he did not 
realise that he was in danger of becoming a mere 
loafer and sponge. Yet he was fond of Mac- 
gregor. 

Macgregor passed from the quiet street wherein 


20 


Courtin* Christina 


he lived into one of Glasgow’s highways, aglow 
with electric light, alive with noise out of all pro- 
portion to its traffic. He continued to walk swiftly, 
his alert eyes betraying his eagerness, for the dis- 
tance of a couple of blocks. Then into another 
quiet street he turned, and therein his pace became 
slower and slower, until it failed altogether. Be- 
neath a gas lamp he questioned his watch, his ex- 
pression betokening considerable anxiety. 

It was a fine October night, but chilly — not that 
he gave any sign of feeling cold. For a space he 
remained motionless, gazing up the street. Possi- 
bly he would have liked a cigarette just then. 

As though rousing himself, he moved abruptly 
and proceeded slowly to the next lamp post, turned 
about and came back to his first halting-place, where 
he turned about again. For a long half-hour he 
continued to stroll between the two posts. Few 
persons passed him, and he did not appear to notice 
them. Indeed, it may as well be frankly admitted 
that he shamefully avoided their glances. When 
at last he did stop, it was with a sort of jerk. 

From one of the closes a girl emerged and came 
towards him. 


CHAPTER TWO 


MacGregor's acquaintance with Jessie Mary was 
almost as old as himself ; yet only within the last 
three months had he recognised her existence as 
having aught of importance to do with his own. 
This recognition had followed swift on the some- 
what sudden discovery that Jessie Mary was pretty. 

The discovery was made at a picnic, organised by 
a section of the great drapery store wherein Jessie 
Mary found employment, Macgregor’s presence at 
the outing being accounted for by the fact that in a 
weak moment he had squandered a money gift 
from his grandparents on the purchase of two 
tickets for Katie, his first love (so far as we 
know), and himself. The picnic was a thorough 
success, but neither Macgregor nor Katie enjoyed 
it. It was not ,so much that anything came be- 
tween them, as that something that had been be- 
tween them departed — evaporated. There was no 
quarrel ; merely a dulness, a tendency to silence, in- 
creasing in dreariness as the bright day wore on. 
And, at last, in the railway compartment, on the 
way home, they sat, crushed together by the crowd, 
21 


22 


Courtin' Christina 


Katie dumb with dismay, Macgregor steeped in 
gloom. 

Opposite them sat Jessie Mary and her escort, a 
young man with sleek hair, a pointed nose, several 
good teeth, and a small but exquisite black mous- 
tache. These two were gay along with the major- 
ity of the occupants of the carriage. Perhaps in 
her simple sixteen-year-old heart Katie began to 
realise that she was deserted indeed; perhaps Mac- 
gregor experienced prickings of shame, not that he 
had ever given or asked promises. Still, it is to 
be hoped that he did not remember then any of 
Katie’s innocent little advances of the past. 

Affection ’twixt youth and youth is such a deli- 
cate, sensitive thing, full of promise as the pretty 
egg of a bonny bird, and as easily broken. 

Macgregor was caught by the vivacious dark 
eyes of Jessie Mary, snared by her impudent red 
mouth, held by the charm of her face, which the 
country sun had tinted with an unwonted bloom. 
Alas for the little brown mouse at his side! At 
briefer and briefer intervals he allowed his gloomy 
glance to rest on the girl opposite, while he be- 
came more and more convinced that the young man 
with the exquisite moustache was a ‘‘ bletherin’ 
idiot.” Gradually he shifted his position to the 
very edge of the seat, so as to lessen his contact 
with Katie. And when Jessie Mary, without 


Courtin' Christina 


23 


warning, presented to his attention her foot in its 
cheap, stylish shoe, saying : I wish ye wud tie 

ma lace, Macgreegor,’’ a strange wild thrill of pride 
ran through his being, though, to be sure, he went 
scarlet to the ears and his fingers could scarce per- 
form their office. There were friends of Jessie 
Mary who declared that Macgregor never would 
have noticed her at all that day had she not been 
wearing a white frock with a scarlet belt; but that 
was grossly unfair to Jessie Mary. The anima- 
tion and fresh coquetry of eighteen were also hers. 

Nigh three months had gone, autumn had come, 
and here in a dingy side-street the captivated youth 
had lingered on the bare chance of a glimpse of the 
same maiden in her every-day attire, his mind tor- 
mented by his doubts as to his reception, should she 
happen to appear. 

And now she was approaching him. For the 
life of him he could neither advance nor retire. 
Still, such of his wits as had remained faithful in- 
formed him that it was stupid-like ” to do nothing 
at all. Whereupon he drew out his watch and ap- 
peared to be profoundly interested in the time. At 
the supreme moment of encounter his surprise was, 
it must be confessed, extremely badly managed, and 
he touched his cap with the utmost diffidence and 
without a word. 


24 


CourtM Christina 


‘‘Hullo!’’ Jessie Mary remarked carelessly. 
“ Fancy meetin’ you, as the man said to the sassige 
roll!” 

It had been a mutton-pie at their last meeting, 
Macgregor remembered, trying to laugh. Some 
comfort might have been his had he known that 
this flippancy, or its variant, was her form of greet- 
ing to all the young men then enjoying her ac- 
quaintance. Jessie Mary usually kept a joke going 
for about three months, and quite successfully, too. 

“ Did ye no’ expec’ to meet me? ” He stumbled 
over the words. 

Jessie Mary laughed lightly, mockingly. “ I 
wasna aware yer best girl lived in this street.” 

“ It — it’s no’ the first time ye’ve seen me here,” 
he managed to say. 

She laughed again. “ Weel, that’s true. I won- 
der wha the girl is.” He would have told her if he 
could, poor boy. “ But I must hurry,” she went on, 
“ or the shops’ll be shut.” 

“ Can I no’ gang wi’ ye ? ” he asked, with a great 
effort. 

“ Oh, ye can come as far as Macrorie’s,” she 
answered graciously, mentioning a provision shop. 

Young love is ever grateful for microscopic 
mercies, and Macgregor’s spirit took courage as he 
fell into step with her. Jessie Mary was a hand- 
somely built young woman ; her shoulder was quite 


Courtin' Christina 


25 


on a level with his. There were times when he 
would fain have been taller ; times, also, when 
he would fain have been older, for Jessie Mary’s 
years exceeded his own by two. Nevertheless, he 
was now thinking of her age without reference to 
his own. He was, in fact, about to speak of it, 
when Jessie Mary said: 

'' I’m to get to the United Ironmongers’ dance 
on Friday week, after a’. When fayther was at 
his tea the nicht, he said I could gang.” 

She might as well have poured a jug of ice 
water over him. “Aw, did he?” he rnurmured 
feebly. 

“Ye should come, Macgreegor,” she continued. 
“ Only three-an’-six for a ticket admittin’ lady an’ 
gent.” 

“ Och, I’m no’ heedin’ aboot dancin’,” said Mac- 
gregor, knowing full well that his going was out 
of the question. 

“ It’ll be a splendid dance. They’ll keep it up 
till three,” she informed him. 

With his heart in his mouth he enquired who was 
taking her to the dance. 

“ Oh, I ha’ena decided yet.” She gave her head 
a becoming little toss. “ I’ve several offers. I’ll 
let them quarrel in the meantime.” 

Perhaps it was some consolation to know that she 
had not decided on any particular escort, and that 


26 Courtin' Christina 


the rivals were at war with one another. While 
there is strife there is hope. 

“Ay; ye’ll ha’e plenty offers,” he managed to 
say steadily, and felt rather pleased with himself. 

“ I’m seriously thinking o’ wearin’ pink,” she 
told him as they turned into the main street. “ It’s 
maybe a wee thing common, but I’ve been told it 
suits me.” 

Macgregor wondered who had told her, and 
stifling his jealousy, observed that pink was a bonny 
colour. . . . “ But — but ye wud look fine in ony 
auld thing.” Truly he was beginning to get on. 

So, at least, Jessie Mary seemed to think. 
“ Nane o’ yer flattery ! ” she said with a coquettish 
laugh. 

“ I wud like fine to see ye at the dance,” he said 
with a sigh. 

“ Come — an’ I’ll gi’e ye a couple o’ dances — 
three, if I can spare them.” Hitherto Jessie Mary 
had regarded Macgregor as a mere boy, and some- 
times as a bit of a nuisance, but she was the sort 
of young woman who cannot have too many strings 
to her bow. “ I can get ye a ticket,” she added en- 
couragingly. 

For an instant it occurred to Macgregor to ask 
her to let him take her to the dance — he would find 
the money somehow — but the idea died in its 
birth. He could not both go to the dance and do 


Courtin' Christina 


27 


that which he had already promised himself to do. 
Besides, she might laugh at him and refuse. 

‘‘ It’s nae use speakin’ aboot the dance,” he said 
regretfully. Then abruptly : ‘‘ Yer birthday’s on 

Tuesday week, is’t no’ ? ” 

Jessie Mary looked at him. His eyes were on 
the pavement. ‘‘ Wha tell’t ye that ? ” 

“ I heard ye speakin’ aboot yer birthday to some- 
body at the picnic.” 

“ My 1 ye’ve a memory ! ” 

‘‘But it’s on Tuesday week — the twinty-third ? 
I was wantin’ to be sure.” 

“ Weel, it’s the twinty-third, sure enough.” 
She heaved an affected sigh. “ Nineteen ! I’m 
gettin’ auld, Macgreegor. Time I was gettin’ a 
lad! Eh?” She laughed at his confusion of 
face. “ But what for d’ye want to ken aboot ma 
birthday ? ” she innocently enquired, becoming 
graver. 

The ingenuousness of the question helped him. 

“Aw, I jist wanted to ken, Jessie Mary. Never 
heed aboot it. I hope ye’ll enjoy the dance — 
when it comes.” This was quite a long speech for 
Macgregor to make, but it might have been even 
longer had they not just then arrived at the pro- 
vision shop. 

“ Here we are,” said she cheerfully. She had 
the decency to ignore the smile of the young man 


28 


Courtin' Christina 


behind the counter — the young man with the sharp 
nose and exquisite black moustache; nor did she 
appear to notice another young man on the oppo- 
site pavement who was also gazing quite openly 
at her. “ Here we are, an’ here we part — to meet 
again, I hope,” she added, with a softer glance. 

ril wait till ye’ve got yer messages,” said Mac- 
gregor, holding his ground. 

She gave him her sweetest smile but one. Na, 
Macgreegor; it’ll tak’ me a while to get the mes- 
sages, an’ I’ve ither places to gang afterwards. 
Maybe I’ll see ye floatin’ aroun’ anither nicht.” 

But I’m no’ in a hurry. I — I wish ye wud let 
me wait.” 

Her very sweetest smile was reserved for the 
most stubborn cases, and she gave it him now. But 
her voice though gentle was quite firm. “If ye 
want to please me, Macgreegor, ye’ll no’ wait the 
nicht.” 

He was conquered. She nodded kindly and en- 
tered the doorway. 

“ Guidbye, Jessie Mary,” he murmured, and 
turned away. 

There were no other customers in the shop. 
Jessie Mary took a seat at the counter. The young 
man, stroking his moustache, gave her a good- 
evening tenderly. 

“ I’m to get to the dance,” she said, solemnly. 


Court in* Christina 


29 


The young man's hand fell to his side. “ Wi' 
me ? " he cried, very eagerly. 

“ I ha'ena made up ma mind yet, Peter. I want 
a pair o' kippers — the biggest ye've got." 


I 


CHAPTER THREE 


The outside of the shop had been painted but 
recently. Above door and window were blazoned 
in large gilt letters the words: 

STATIONERY and FANCY GOODS. 

Just over the doorway was very modestly printed 
in white the name of the proprietor: 

M. Tod. 

What the M stood for nobody knew (or cared) 
unless, perhaps, the person so designated; and it is 
almost conceivable that she had forgotten, consid- 
ering that for five and thirty years she had never 
heard herself addressed save as Miss Tod. 

For five and thirty years M. Tod had kept her 
shop without assistance. For five and thirty years 
she had lived in the shop and its back room, rarely 
going out of doors except to church on Sunday 
mornings. The grocer along the way had a stand- 
ing order: practically all the necessaries of life, as 
M. Tod understood them, could be supplied from 


Courtin' Christina 


31 


a grocer^s shop. A time had been when M. Tod 
saved money; but the last ten years had witnessed 
a steady shrinking of custom, a dwindling in hopes 
for a peaceful, comfortable old age, a shrinking and 
dwindling in M. Tod herself. A day came when 
a friendly customer and gossip was startled to be- 
hold M. Tod suddenly flop to the floor behind the 
counter. 

A doctor, hastily summoned, brought her back to 
a consciousness of her drab existence and dingy 
shop. She was soon ready to go on with both as 
though nothing had happened. The doctor, how- 
ever, warned her quite frankly that if she did not 
take proper nourishment, moderate exercise and 
abundance of fresh air, she would speedily find 
herself beyond need of these things. 

M. Tod did not want to die, and since she never 
laughed at anything she could not laugh at the 
doctor. To some of us life is like a cup of bitter 
physic with a lump of sugar at the bottom, but no 
spoon to stir it up with; life, therefore, must be 
sweet — sooner or later. 

On the other hand, obedience to the doctor would 
involve considerable personal expenditure, not to 
mention the engaging of an assistant. When M. 
Tod had reckoned up the remnants of her savings 
and estimated her financial position generally, she 
incontinently groaned. Nevertheless, she presently 


32 


Courtin' Christina 


proceeded to prepare a two-line advertisement for 
the Evening Express. She was still in the throes of 
composition — endeavouring to say in twenty 
words what she thought in two hundred — when 
Mr. Baldwin, traveller for a firm of fancy-goods 
merchants, entered the shop. Acquainted with his 
kindly manner in the past, she ventured to confide 
to him her present difficulties. 

Mr. Baldwin was not only sympathetic but help- 
ful. 

‘‘ Why,’’ said he, “ my niece Christina might suit 
you — in fact. I’m sure she would. She is nearly 
sixteen, and only yesterday finished a full course of 
book-keeping. More than that. Miss Tod, she has 
had experience in the trade. Her aunt before her 
marriage to — er — myself — had a little business 
like your own, at the coast. I had thought of get- 
ting Christina a situation in the wholesale, but I 
believe it would be better for her to be here, for a 
time at least. I know she is keen on a place where 
she can have her own way — I mean to say, have 
room to carry out her own ideas.” Mr. Baldwin 
halted in some confusion, but speedily recovered. 
“ Anyway,” he went on, ‘‘ give her a trial. Let me 
send her along to see you this evening.” 

M. Tod assented, possibly because she feared to 
hurt the traveller’s feelings. “ Nearly sixteen ” 
and “ keen on a place where she can have her own 


Courtin' Christina 


33 


way ” did not sound precisely reassuring to the old 
woman who had no experience of young folk, and 
who had been her own mistress for so long. 

That evening Christina came, saw and, after a 
little hesitation, conquered her doubts as to the suit- 
ability of the situation. ‘‘ I’ll manage her easy,” 
she said to herself while attending with the utmost 
demureness to M. Tod’s recital of the duties re- 
quired of her assistant — ‘‘ I’ll manage her easy.” 

Within six months she had made good her un- 
uttered words. 

It was Saturday afternoon. M. Tod was about 
to leave the shop for an airing. Time takes back 
no wrinkles, yet M. Tod seemed younger than a 
year ago. She had lost the withered, yellowed 
complexion of those who worship continually in 
the Temple of Tannin; her movements were freer; 
her voice no longer fell at the end of every sentence 
on a note of hopelessness. Though she had grown 
some months older, she had become years less 
aged. She glanced round her shop with an air of 
pride. 

From behind the counter Christina, with a 
kindly, faintly amused smile, watched her. 

“ Ay,” remarked M. Tod, “ everything looks 
vera nice — vera nice, indeed, dearie. I can see 
ye’ve done yer best to follow ma instructions.” 


Courtin* Christina 


It had become a habit with M. Tod to express 
observations of this sort prior to going out, a habit, 
also, to accept all Christina's innovations and im- 
provements as originally inspired by herself. 
Even the painting of the shop, which, when first 
mooted by the girl, had seemed about as desirable 
as an earthquake, had gradually become her very 
own bright idea. Happily Christina had no diffi- 
culty in tolerating such gentle injustices; as a mat- 
ter of fact, she preferred that her mistress should 
be managed unawares. 

“ Tak' a squint at the window when ye gang oot,” 
she said, pleasantly. “Ye ha'ena seen it since it 
was dressed. There's a heap o' cheap trash in it, 
but it’s trash that draws the public noo-a-days.” 

“ Oh, I wudna say that, dearie,” said the old 
woman. “ I've aye tried to gi'e folk guid value.” 

“ Ay I Ma aunt was like that — near ruined 
hersel' tryin' to gi'e the public what it didna want. 
What the public wants is gorgeousness — an' it 
wants it cheap. Abyssinian Gold an' papermashy 
leather an' so on. See thon photo-frames ! ” — 
Christina pointed — “ the best sellin' photo-frames 
ever we had! In a week or so, they get wearit 
sittin' on the mantel-piece, an' doon they fa' wi' a 
broken leg; in a fortnight they look as if they had 
been made in the year ten B.C. ! Behold thon 
purses! Safer to carry yer cash in a paper poke, 


Courtin' Christina 


35 


but the public canna resist the real, genuine silver 

mounts. Observe thon '' 

“ Weel, weel,’" Miss Tod mildly interrupted, 
“ it’s maybe as ye say, an’ I canna deny that cus- 
tom’s improvin’. But it’s a sad pity that folk 

winna buy the best ” 

‘‘ Oh, let the folk pity theirsel’s — when they get 
sense — an’ that’ll no’ be this year. Gi’e them what 
they want, an’ never heed what they need. That’s 
the motto for a shop-keeper. Come ower here for 
a minute till I sort yer bonnet, or ye’ll be lossin’ 
twa o’ yer grapes. I hear figs an’ onions is to be 
the favourite trimmin’ next Spring. Ye could dae 
wi’ a new bonnet. Miss Tod.” 

“ So I could,” the old woman wistfully admitted 
as she submitted her headgear to her assistant’s 
deft fingers. “ I couldna say when I got this yin.” 

“ Oh, I’m no’ keen on dates. But ” — encoura- 
gingly — ‘‘ we’ll tak’ stock next week, an’ when 
we’ve struck the half-year’s balance I’ll no’ be sur- 
prised if ye tak’ the plunge an’ burst a pound-note 
at the milliner’s.” Christina administered a final 
pat to the ancient bonnet. ‘‘ Noo ye’re ready for 
the road. See an’ no’ catch cold. I’ll ha’e the 
kettle at the bile against yer return at five.” 

“ I’ll no’ be late,” replied M. Tod who, to tell the 
truth, was already wishing it were tea-time, and 
moved to the door. 


36 


Court in* Christina 


'' I suppose,” said Christina, “ ye wudna care to 
call at the Reverend Mr. McTavish’s an' politely 
ask for payment o' his account — consistin' chiefly 
o' sermon-paper. He's a whale for sermon- 
paper ! '' 

Oh, dearie, dearie, I couldna dae that,” fal- 
tered M. Tod, and made her escape. 

“ If that account isna paid sune,” Christina mur- 
mured, ‘‘ I'll ha'e to gang masel' an' put the fear o' 
death into the man. Business is business — even 
when it's releegious.” 

She looked round the shop to discover if aught 
required her attention; then being satisfied that 
nought could be improved, she seated herself on 
the stool and prepared to do a little book-keeping. 

As she dipped her pen, however, the door of the 
shop was slowly opened, the bell above it banged, 
and a young man — so she reckoned him — came 
in. In her quick way, though she had never seen 
him before, she put him down in her mind as a 
purchaser of a half-penny football paper. But hav- 
ing recovered from the alarm of the bell and care- 
fully shut the door, he hesitated, surveying his sur- 
roundings. 

Christina flung back her thick plait of fair 
hair, slipped from the stool, and came to atten- 
tion. 

“ Nice day,” she remarked in her best manner. 


Courtin' Christina 


37 


She contrived to get away from the vernacular in 
her business dealings. 

‘‘ Ay.” The young man smiled absently. 

“ Nice teeth,” thought Christina. (That Mac- 
gregor’s teeth were good was entirely due to his 
mother’s firmness in the matter of brushing them 
during his younger days. He was inclined to be 
proud of them now.) 

“ Just take a look round,” she said aloud. 

Macgregor acknowledged the invitation with a 
nod. 

' ‘‘Was it anything special you wanted to see?” 
she enquired. 

Macgregor regarded her for a moment. “ I had 
a look at yer window,” he said, his eyes wander- 
ing once more, “ but I seen naething dearer nor a 
shillin’.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Christina. Then recovering 
her dignity — “ The window is merely a popular 
display. We have plenty of more expensive goods 
within.” She felt pleased at having said “ within ” 
instead of “ inside.” 

At the word “ expensive ” Macgregor shrank. 
“Aboot half-a-croon? ” he said diffidently, taking 
a step towards the door. 

“ Half-a-croon and upwards,” said Christina 
very distinctly. As a matter of fact, the shop con- 
tained few articles priced as high as two shillings, 


38 


Courtin' Christina 


the neighbourhood not being noted for its affluence ; 
but one of Christina’s mottoes was “ First catch 
your customer and then rook him.” “ Oh, yes,” 
she added pleasantly, ‘‘ our goods at half-a-crown 
are abundant.” 

For a moment Macgregor doubted she was laugh- 
ing at him, but a veiled glance at her earnest face 
reassured him — nay, encouraged him. He had 
never bought a present for a lady before, and felt 
his position keenly. Indeed, he had left his home 
district to make the purchase in order that he might 
do so unrecognised. 

So with a shy, appealing smile he said: 

It’s for a present.” 

“ A present. Certainly ! ” she replied, lapsing a 
trifle in the excitement of the moment. “ Male or 
female ? ” 

Macgregor gave her an honest stare. 

‘‘Is it for a lady or gent?” she enquired, less 
abashed by the stare than annoyed with herself for 
having used the wrong phrase. 

“ Lady,” said Macgregor, with an attempt at 
boldness, and felt himself getting hot. 

“ Will you kindly step this way? ” came the po- 
lite invitation. 

Macgregor proceeded to the counter and bumped 
his knee against the chair that stood there. 

“ Useful or ornamental ? ” 


C ourtin' C hristina 


39 


‘‘I — I dinna ken/' he answered between his 
teeth. 

‘‘ ril break that chair's neck for it some day ! " 
cried Christina, her natural sympathy for suffering 
getting the better of her commercial instincts. 
Then she coughed in her best style. “ Do you 
think the young lady would like something to 
wear ? " 

“ I dinna ken, I'm sure." Macgregor pushed 
back his cap and scratched his head. ‘‘ Let’s see 
what ye've got for wearin' an' — an’ no’ for 
wearin’." 

Christina, too, nearly scratched her head. She 
was striving to think where she could lay hands on 
articles for which she could reasonably charge half- 
a-crown. 

Without very noticeable delay she turned to a 
drawer, and presently displayed a small green ob- 
long box. She opened it. 

‘‘ This is a nice fountain-pen," she explained. 
“ Its price has been reduced " 

“Aw, I'm no' heedin' aboot reduced things, 
thank ye a' the same.” 

“ I’ll make it two shillings to you," Christina said 
persuasively. “ That's a very drastic reduction." 
Which was perfectly true. On the other hand, the 
pen was an old model which she had long despaired 
of selling. “ Nothing could be more suitable for a 


40 Courtin' Christina 

young lady/’ she added, exhibiting the nib. “ Real 
gold.” 

But Macgregor shook his head. 

With apparent cheerfulness she laid the pen aside. 

It’s for a young lady, I think you said ? ” 

Ay, it’s for a young lady, but she’s no’ that 
young either. Aboot ma ain age, maybe.” 

Christina nearly said about twelve, I suppose,” 
but refrained. She was learning to subdue her 
tendency to chaff. ‘‘ I perceive,” she said gravely. 
“ Is she fond of needlework ? ” 

I couldna say. She’s gettin’ a pink dress, but 
I think her mither’s sewin’ it for her.” 

'' A pink dress ! ” muttered Christina, forgetting 
herself. Oh, Christopher Columbus ! ” She 
turned away sharply. 

‘‘Eh?” 

“ She’ll be a brunette ? ” said Christina calmly, 
though her cheeks were flushed. 

“ I couldna say,” said Macgregor again. 

Christina brought forward a tray of glittering 
things. “ These combs are much worn at present,” 
she informed him. “ Observe the jewels.” 

“ They’ll no’ be real,” said Macgregor doubt- 
fully. 

“Well — a — no. Not exactly real. But every- 
body weers — wears imitation jewellery nowadays. 
The west-end’s full of it — chock-a-block, in fact.” 


Courtin^ Christina 


41 


She held up a pair of combs of almost blinding 
beauty. “ Chaste — ninepence each.” 

AyC sighed Macgregor, “ but I’m no’ 


‘‘ Silver belt — quite the rage — one shilling.” 

Macgregor remembered the scarlet belt at the 
picnic. He had a vague vision of a gift of his in 
its place. He held out his hand for the glittering 
object. 

You don’t happen to know the size of the 
lady’s waist ? ” said Christina in a most discreet 
tone of voice. 

‘‘ I couldna say.” He laid down the belt, but 
kept looking at it. 

‘‘ Excuse me,” she said softly, lifting the belt 
and fastening it round her waist. She was wearing 
a navy skirt and a scarlet flannel shirt, with a white 
collar and black tie. “ My waist is just about me- 
dium.” She proceeded to put the combs in her 
hair. Of course they would look better on a 
brunette.” She permitted herself the faintest of 
smiles. ‘‘ But you can see how they look when 
they’re being worn.” 

Was there a hint of mockery in the bright grey- 
blue eyes ? Macgregor did not observe it ; nor was 
he shocked by the crudity and gaudiness of the 
ornaments in broad daylight. But perhaps the gen- 
eral effect was not so shocking. Christina, having 


42 


Courtin' Christina 


previously experimented with the ornaments, had 
a pretty good idea of how they appeared upon her. 
It would be difficult to describe precisely what Mac- 
gregor thought just then, but it is to be feared that 
he made the sudden and unexpected discovery that 
Jessie Mary was not the only pretty girl in the 
world. 

‘‘ ril tak’ them,” he said uneasily, and put his 
hand in his pocket. 

Thank you,” said Christina. ‘‘ Will that be 
all to-day ? ” 

‘‘Ay; thatdl be a’.” He had purposed spending 
the odd penny of his fund on a birthday card, but 
for some undefinable reason let the coin fall back 
into his pocket. 

Christina proceeded to make a neat parcel. 
“ YouTe a stranger here,” she remarked pleasantly. 

“Ay. But I dinna live far awa’.” Now that 
the ordeal was over, he was feeling more at ease. 
“ YeVe a nice shop, miss.” 

“Do you think so? Fm very glad you got 
something to suit you in it. Thank you! Half-a- 
crown — two-and-six exactly. Good afternoon ! ” 

It may be that Macgregor would have stopped to 
make a remark or two on his own account, but 
just then an elderly woman entered the shop. 

“ Guidbye, Miss,” he murmured, touching his 
cap, and departed with his purchase. 


Courtin' Christina 43 


Christina dropped the silver into the till. To 
herself she said: ‘‘I doobt he’s no’ as green as 
he’s cabbage-lookin’.” Aloud : Nice day, Mrs. 

Dunn. Is your little grandson quite 'well again ? ” 


CHAPTER FOUR 


For some weeks Macgregor had nourished an 
idea of making the birthday presentation with his 
own hands. In fancy he had beheld his own gal- 
lant proffering of the gifts, and Jessie Mary’s shy 
acceptance of the same. Why he should have 
foreseen himself bold and Jessie Mary bashful is 
a question that may be left to those who have the 
profound insight necessary to diagnose the delicate 
workings of a youthful and lovelorn imagination. 
At the same time he had harboured many hopeful 
fears and fearful hopes, but to divulge these in de- 
tail would be sacrilege. 

On the day following the purchase of the gifts, 
however, his original plan, so simple and straight- 
forward, would seem to have lost something of its 
attractiveness. Perhaps he was suddenly assailed 
by the cowardice of modesty; possibly he argued, 
in effect, that the offering would gain in importance 
by impersonal delivery. At all events, he endeav- 
oured, on the way to church, to borrow from Willie 
Thomson the sum of threepence — the charge for 


C ourtin' C hristina 


45 


delivery demanded by a heartless post-office. Un- 
fortunately Willie’s finances just then were in a 
most miserable state, so much so that on this very 
morning he had been compelled to threaten his 
aunt, with whom and on whom he lived, with the 
awful vow never to enter a church again unless she 
supplied him with twopence on the spot. (This, 
of course, in addition to the customary penny for 
‘‘ the plate.”) 

He jingled the coins in his pocket while he con- 
fided to Macgregor his tale of a hard world, and 
continued to do so while he waited for the sym- 
pathy which past experience of his friend led him 
to expect. 

It was therefore something of a shock to Willie 
when Macgregor, privately fondling the penny 
which he had not spent on a birthday card, replied : 
‘‘ I could manage wi’ the tuppence, Wullie. An’ 
I’ll pay ye back on Seturday, sure.” 

‘‘Eh?” Willie stopped jingling and clutched 
his coins tightly. 

Macgregor repeated his words hopefully. 

“ Aw, but I canna len’ ye the tuppence,” said 
Willie, almost resentfully; adding, “But I’ll gi’e 
ye a ceegarette or twa when I buy some.” 

“ I’m no’ wantin’ yer ceegarettes,” Macgregor re- 
turned, his eyes on the pavement. 

Willie shot at him a curious glance. “ What for 


46 


Courtin' Christina 


d’ye want the tuppence? Ha’e ye been bettin’ on 
horses ? ” 

For a moment Macgregor was tempted to plead 
guilty of that or any other crime on the chance of 
gaining the other’s sympathies and pence. Instead, 
however, he answered with caution : “ I’ll maybe 

tell ye, if ye’ll len’ me the tuppence.” 

Willie laughed. ** I’m no’ sae green. Ye best 
get yer fayther to gi’e ye the money.” 

“ Clay up ! ” snapped Macgregor, and remained 
silent for the rest of the journey. 

Had the money been required for any other ob- 
ject in the world, Macgregor would probably have 
gone straightway to his father and frankly asked 
for it. But the limits of confidence between son 
and parent are reached when the subject is a girl. 
Nevertheless, it was to the boy’s credit that he 
never dreamed of attempting to obtain his father’s 
help under false pretences. 

That night he came to the dismal decision to 
deliver the package himself at Jessie Mary’s door, 
at an hour when Jessie Mary would be certain to 
be out. There was nothing else for it, as far as 
he could see just then. 

The following morning’s light found him at his 
work — no longer, alas! in the far west-end with 
its windfall of pennies for the car, but in the heart 
of the city. The man under whom he worked 


Courtin' Christina 


47 


found him so slow and stupid that he threatened to 
report him to his employer. Altogether it was a 
dreary day, and Macgregor, who usually paid 
enough attention to his duties to escape the burden 
of time, was more than glad when the last working 
hour had dragged to its close. 

He went home by an unaccustomed though not 
entirely unfamiliar route. It led him past the shop 
wherein he had made the birthday purchases on 
Saturday afternoon. The window was more 
brightly illuminated than the majority of its neigh- 
bours; the garish contents were even more at- 
tractive than in daylight. Macgregor found him- 
self regarding them with a half-hearted interest. 
Presently he noticed that one of the sliding glass 
panels at the back of the window was open a few 
inches. This aperture permitted him to see the fol- 
lowing : A hand writing a letter on a sloping desk, 
a long plait of fair hair over a scarlet shoulder, 
and a youthful profile with an expression very much 
in earnest yet cheerful withal. 

Macgregor could not help watching the writer, 
and he continued to do so for several minutes with 
increasingly lively interest. He was even wonder- 
ing to whom the letter might be written, when the 
writer, having dipped her pen too deeply, made a 
horrid, big blot. She frowned and for an instant 
put out her tongue. Then, having regarded the 


48 


Courtin' Christina 


blot for a space with a thoughtful gaze, she seized 
the pen and with a few deft touches transformed 
the blot into the semblance of a black beetle. 
Whereupon she smiled with such transparent de- 
light that Macgregor smiled also. 

“ What are ye grinnin’ at ? ” said a voice at his 
elbow. 

He turned to discover Willie Thomson. At no 
time in the whole course of their friendship had he 
felt a keener desire to hit Willie on his impudent 
nose, ‘‘ Naething,’’ he muttered shortly. “ Are 
ye gaun hame?” 

“ Ay,” said Willie, noting the other's discom- 
posure, but not referring to it directly. ‘‘ This isna 
yer usual road hame.” 

“ Depends whaur Tm cornin’ frae,” returned 
Macgregor, quickening his pace. “ Ha’e ye got a 
job yet, Wullie?” he enquired more graciously. 

I tried yin the day, but it’s no’ gaun to suit me. 
But I’ve earned ninepence. I can len’ ye thon 
thruppence, if ye like.” 

“ Aw, I’m no’ needin’ it noo.” 

“ Weel, ha’e a ceegarette.” Willie produced a 
yellow packet. 

Na, I’m no’ smokin’, Wullie.” 

“ What’s wrang wi’ ye ? ” 

‘‘ Naething . . . What sort of job was ye 
tryin’ ? ” 


Courtin' Christina 


49 


Willie told him, and thereafter proceeded to re- 
count as many grievances as there had been hours in 
his working day. Macgregor encouraged him to 
enter into all sorts of detail, so that home was 
reached without reference to the shop window 
which had caused him amusement. 

“ So long,” said Willie, lighting a fresh ciga- 
rette. ‘‘ Maybe see ye later.” 

“ Ah, it’s likely,” Macgregor replied, and turned 
into the close, glad to escape. 

“ Haud on ! ” cried Willie. 

‘‘What?” Macgregor halted with reluctance. 

Willie sniggered. “ I seen ye wi' Jessie Mary 
the ither nicht.” 

“ Did ye ? ” retorted Macgregor feebly. 

“ Ay ; an’ if I was you, I wud let girls alane. 
They’re nae fun, an’ they’re awfu’ expensive.” 

With which sage advice Willie walked off. 

Macgregor made up his mind not to leave the 
house that evening, yet eight o’clock found him at 
the foot of the street wherein Jessie Mary lived. 
But he did not go up the street, and at the end of 
five minutes he strolled the way he had taken two 
hours earlier. As he approached a certain shop the 
light in its window went out. He marched home 
quickly, looking neither right nor left. 

On the following evening he hired a small boy 


50 


Courtin* Christina 


for the sum of one halfpenny to deliver the package 
to Jessie Mary at her abode, and straightway re- 
turned to the parental fireside, where he blushed at 
the welcome accorded him. 

That night, however, fate willed it that John 
Robinson should run out of tobacco. Macgregor, 
who had been extremely restless, expressed himself 
ready to step down to the tobacco shop in the main 
street. 

Here it must be mentioned that the gifts had 
reached Jessie Mary at precisely the right moment. 
They had raised her spirits from the depths of de- 
spair to at least the lower heights of hope. Only an 
hour before their arrival she had learned how the 
young man with the exquisite moustache had 
treacherously invited another young lady to accom- 
pany him to the Ironmongers* dance; and although 
to the ordinary mind this may appear to have been 
the simple result of a lack of superhuman patience 
on the young man’s part, Jessie Mary could per- 
ceive in it nothing but the uttermost perfidy. So 
that until the arrival of Macgregor’s present — to 
J. M. from M. with best wishes” (an “1” had 
been scraped out where the second “ w ” now 
stood) — she had felt like tearing the pink frock 
to tatters and preparing for the tomb. 

They met near the tobacconist’s — on Mac- 


Courtin* Christina 


51 


gregor’s home side, by the way — and he could not 
have looked more guilty had he sent her an infernal 
machine. 

‘‘ It was awful kind o’ ye,” she said sweetly ; 
‘‘ jist awful kind.” 

“ Aw, it was naething,” he stammered. 

“ They’re jist lovely, an’ that fashionable,” she 
went on, and gradually led the conversation to the 
subject of the United Ironmongers’ dance. 

‘‘ Ye should come,” she said, “ an’ see hoo nice I 
look wi’ them on. The belt’ll be lovely wi’ ma pink 
frock. An’ the combs was surely made for black 
hair like mines. Of course I tried them on the 
minute I got them.” 

“ Did ye ? ” murmured Macgregor. Where was 
all the feverish joy, the soft rapture anticipated 
three nights ago ? ‘‘ Did ye ? ” — that was all he 
said. 

She made allowance for his youth and the bash- 
fulness she had so often experienced. “ Mac- 
greegor,” she whispered, slipping her hand through 
his arm, in the darkness of the street leading to her 
home, “ Macgreegor, I believe I wud suner dance 
wi’ you than onybody else.” 

Macgregor seemed to have nothing to say. The 
touch of her hand was pleasant, and yet he was 
uneasy. 

“ Macgreegor,” she said presently, a little breath- 


52 


Courtin' Christina 


lessly, “ I’m no’ heedin’ aboot ony o’ the chaps that 
wants to tak’ me to the dance. If ye had a 

ticket ” She paused. They had halted in the 

close-mouth, as it is locally termed. “ I’m sayin’, 

Macgreegor, if ye had a ticket ” She paused 

again. 

The boy felt foolish and wretched. ‘‘ But I 
canna gang to the dance, Jessie Mary,” he managed 
to say. 

She leaned closer to him. “ It’ll be a splendid 
dance — at least ” — she looked at him boldly — ‘‘ it 
wud be splendid if you and me was gaun thegether.” 

In his wildest of wild dreams he may have 
thought of kissing this girl. He might have done 
it now — quite easily. 

But he didn’t — he couldn’t. 

“ Na ; I canna gang,” he said. “ An’ — an’ ma 
fayther’ll be waitin’ for his tobacco. Guidnicht.” 
He glanced at her with a miserable smile, and de- 
parted — bolted. 

Poor Jessie Mary with her little natural vanities ! 

Poor Macgregor ! He went home hot and 
ashamed — he could not have told why. He did 
not grudge the gifts, yet vaguely wished he had not 
given them. 

And he dreamed that night of, among other queer 
things, a shop window, a plait of fair hair on a 
scarlet shoulder, and a black beetle. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


‘‘ Mercy^ laddie ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Robinson, as 
her son entered the kitchen, a little late for tea. 
‘‘ What ha'e ye been daein' to yer face? ” 

The colour induced by the question seemed 
almost to extinguish the hectic spot at Macgregor’s 
left cheek-bone. 

‘‘ Washin’ it,” he answered shortly, taking his 
accustomed chair. 

“ But it^s cut.” 

“ Tits, Lizzie I ” muttered Mr. Robinson. ‘‘ Are 
ye for toast, Macgreegor ? ” 

“ He’s been shavin’ his whiskers,” said Jimsie. 
‘‘ Did ye no’ ken Macgreegor’s gettin’ whiskers. 
Maw ? ” he went on in spite of a warning pressure 
from sister Jeannie. “Paw, what way dae folk 
get whiskers ? ” 

“ Dear knows,” returned his father briefly. 
“ Lizzie, can ye no’ gi’e Macgreegor a cup o’ tea? ” 
Lizzie lifted the cosy from the brown teapot. 
“ Where did ye get the razor, Macgreegor ? ” 

“ He hasna got a razor. Maw,” said Jimsie. 
“ He does it wi’ a wee knife.” 

53 


54 


Courtin' Christina 


Shurrup ! ” Macgreegor growled, whereupon 
Jimsie choked and his eyes filled with tears. 

“ Macgreegor,” said his mother, “ that’s no’ the 
way to speak to yer wee brither.” 

Macgreegor,” said his sister, “ I’ll mak’ ye a bit 
o’ hot toast, if ye like.” 

‘‘ Ay, Jeannie,” said John quickly, ‘‘ mak’ him 
a bit o’ hot toast, an’ I’ll look after Jimsie.” He 
turned the conversation to the subject of a great 
vessel that had been launched into the Clyde that 
morning. 

Sullenly Macgregor took the cup from his 
mother’s hand and forthwith devoted his attention 
to his meal. Seldom had resentment taken such 
possession of his soul. Another word from his 
mother or Jimsie, and he would have retorted 
violently and flung out of the room. The mild in- 
tervention of his sister and father had saved a 
scene. Though his face cooled, his heart remained 
hot; though hungry, he ate little, including the 
freshly made toast, which he accepted with a grace- 
lessness that probably shamed him even more than 
it hurt Jeannie. Poor sensitive, sulky youth! — a 
hedge-hog with its skin turned outside-in could not 
suffer more. 

For the first time in the course of his married 
life John Robinson really doubted Lizzie’s dis- 
cretion. It was with much diffidence, however, that 


Courtin' Christina 


55 


he referred to the matter after Macgregor had 
gone out, and while Jeannie was superintending 
Jimsie's going to bed. 

“ Lizzie,’’ he began, eyeing his cold pipe, “ did 
ye happen to notice that Macgreegor was a wee 
thing offended the nicht? ” 

Mrs. Robinson did not halt in her business of 
polishing a bread plate. ‘‘ Macgreegor’s gettin’ 
ower easy offended,” she said, carelessly enough. 

John struck a match and held it without applica- 
tion to his pipe until the flame scorched his hard- 
ened fingers. ** Speakin’ frae experience,” he said 
slowly, ‘‘ there’s twa things that a young man tak’s 

vera serious-like. The first ” 

“ Wha’s the young man? ” 

“ Macgreegor. . . . Aw, Lizzie ! ” 

“ Macgreegor’s a laddie.” 

“ He’s a young man — an’ fine ye ken it, wife ! ” 
Lizzie put down the plate and took up another. 
‘‘ An’ what does he tak’ serious-like ? ” she 
enquired, coolly. 

Firstly,” said John, with a great effort, and 
stuck. 

‘‘ Ye’ll be preachin’ a sermon directly,” said she. 
“ Can ye no’ licht yer pipe an’ speak nateral ? ” 
Hoo can I speak nateral when I ken ye’re 
makin’ a mock o’ me ? ” 

‘‘ Havers, man ! ” she said, becoming good- 


56 


Courtin' Christina 


humoured lest he should lose his temper ; licht yer 
pipe. I’m listenin’.” 

John lit his pipe in exceedingly methodical 
fashion. ‘‘ Weel, Lizzie,” he began at last, “ I jist 
wanted to say that when a young man’s gettin’ hair 
on his face, ye — ye shouldna notice it.” 

I didna notice it.” 

‘‘ Weel, ye shouldna refer to it.” 

“ It was the cut I referred to.” 

John sucked at his pipe and scratched his head. 

That’s true,” he admitted. ‘‘ Still, if yer sister 
had a wudden leg, ye wudna refer to the noise on 
the stair. It wasna like ye, Lizzie, to hurt Mac- 
greegor’s feelin’s.” 

Mrs. Robinson put down the plate with an un- 
usual clatter. Hurt Maegreegor’s feelings ! — She ? — ■ 
The idea ! ‘‘ Are ye feenished ? ” she snapped. 

John nerved himself. ‘‘ There’s anither thing 
that it’s best no’ to refer to — anither thing that a 
young man tak’s vera serious-like. When a young 
man begins to tak’ an interest in the lassies ” 

“ Oh, man, can ye no stop haverin’ ? ” she cried. 
“ Ha’e ye forgot the laddie’s age ? ” 

“ It’s the shavin’ age, an’ that means ” 

“ Ma brither Rubbert was nineteen afore he put 
a razor to his face.” 

Yer brither Rubbert was never what I wud 
ca’ a female fancier. Of course that wasna his 


Courtin' Christina 


57 


fau’t; he was jist as the Lord made him, and he’s 
turned oot a vera successful man, an’ for a’ we ken 
his wife Sarah’s maybe better nor she’s bonny. 

But yer son Macgreegor ” 

Macgreegor wud never look at the lassies. 
He’s ower shy.” 

‘‘ Whiles it’s the kind that doesna look that leaps 
the furdest. But there’s waur things in the world 
nor razors and lassies,” said John, with a feeble 
laugh, an’ I jist wanted to warn ye no’ to ask 
questions, even though ye should see Macgreegor 
weerin’ his Sunday tie every nicht in the week! I 
hope ye’re no’ offended, Lizzie.” 

But it is to be feared that Lizzie was offended 
just then. She had not been the better half for 
eighteen years without knowing it; she had grown 
to expect her easy-going husband’s cheerful ac- 
quiescence in practically all she did, and to regard 
her acceptance of his most mild remonstrances as 
a sort of favour. And now he was actually giving 
her advice concerning her treatment of her first- 
born! It was too much for her pride. 

She set her mouth in a hard line, threw up her 
head, and proceeded with her polishing. 

John waited for a couple of minutes, then sighed 
and took up his evening paper. 

5|c He * * * 

Meanwhile Macgregor was having his troubles. 


58 


Courtin' Christina 


He contrived to dodge Willie Thomson, who now- 
adays seemed always to be where he was not 
wanted, but the operation involved a detour of 
nearly a quarter of a mile, in the course of which 
he was held up by another youth of his acquaint- 
ance. Ten minutes were wasted in listening with 
ill-concealed impatience to fatuous observations 
on the recent play of certain professional foot- 
ballers, and then he continued his journey only to 
fall, metaphorically speaking, into the arms of 
Jessie Mary emerging from a shop. 

Hullo, Mac ! I thought ye was deid ! ” was 
her blithe greeting, the sausage roll ’’ phrase 
having at long last served its day. “ Ye’re in a 
hurry,” she added, but so am I, so ye can walk 
back to the corner wi’ me.” 

Macgregor mumbled something to the effect that 
he was in no special hurry, and, possibly in order 
to give a touch of truth to his falsehood, turned 
and accompanied her. 

Ye’ve no’ been gi’ein’ the girls a treat lately,” 
she remarked. “ I ha’ena noticed ye floatin’ 
aroun’. Ha’e ye been keepin’ the hoose at nicht ? ” 

“ Whiles,” he replied, and enquired with some 
haste, Hoo did ye enjoy the dance last week, 
Jessie? ” 

'' Oh, dinna mention it ! ” she cried, with a toss 
of her head. ‘‘ I didna gang to it.” 


Courtin' Christina 


59 


“ Ye didna gang to the dance! ” 

“ If I had went, it wud ha’e meant bloodshed,” 
she impressively informed him. ‘‘Ye see, there 
was twa chaps implorin’ me to gang wi’ them, an’ 
they got that fierce aboot it that I seen it wudna 
ha’e been safe to gang wi’ either. A riot in a 
ballroom is no’ a nice thing. An’ if I had went wi’ 
a third party, it wud ha’e been as much as his life 
was worth. So I jist bided at hame.” 

Macgregor began, but was not allowed to com- 
plete, a sympathetic remark. 

“ Oh, I was glad I didna gang. The dance 
turned oot to be a second-rate affair entirely — no’ 
half-a-dizzen shirt fronts in the comp’ny. An’ I 
believe there wasna three o’ the men could dance 
for nuts, an’ the refreshments was rotten.” 

They had now reached the appointed corner. 

“ Jist as weel ye didna gang, then,” absently said 
Macgregor, halting. 

“ Come up to the close,” said Jessie Mary. 
“I’ve something to show ye. Ay; it was jist as 
weel, as ye say. But there’s a champion dance 
cornin’ off on the nineteenth o’ November — the 
young men o’ the hosiery department are gettin’ 
it up — naething second-rate aboot it. Ye should 
come to it, Macgreegor.” She touched his arm — 
unintentionally perhaps. “ Plenty o’ pretty girls 
— though I wudna guarantee their dancin’. I’ve 


6o 


Courtin Christina 


no’ decided yet wha I’ll gang wi’.” She paused. 
Macgregor did not speak. ‘‘Ye see, I’m parteec- 
’lar wha I dance wi’,” she went on softly, “ an’ I 
expec’ you’re the same. Some girls are like bags 
o’ flour an’ ithers are like telegraph poles, but 
there’ll be few o’ that sort at the hosiery dance. 
An’ onyway ” — she laughed — “ ye could aye fa’ 
back on this girl — eh ? ” 

“ I dinna think ye wud be that hard up for a 
partner,” said Macgregor, suddenly stimulated by 
a flash of her eyes in the lamplight. “ But I’m no’ 
awfu’ keen on the dancin’.” 

“Ye danced fine when ye was a wee laddie. I 
mind when ye danced the Highland Fling in the 
kitchen, on Hogmanay. That was the nicht I had 
to kiss ye to get ye oot o’ the ring. Ye was ower 
shy to kiss me. An’ you an’ Wullie Thomson 
started the fightin’, because he laughed. D’ye 
mind? ” 

“ That’s an auld story,” he said, with embarrass- 
ment. 

“ I suppose it is,” she admitted reluctantly. 
Then cheerfully : “ Weel, here we are ! But wait 

till I let ye see something.” She halted at the mouth 
of the close and began to unbutton her jacket. 

“ Ye’ve never seen the belt since ye gi’ed it to 
me, Macgreegor. I weer it whiles in the evenin’. 
There ye are! It looks fine, does it no’? Maybe 


C ourtin' C hristina 


6i 


a wee thing wide. I could dae wi' it an inch or twa 
tighter. Feel.’' 

She took his hand and slid his fingers between 
the metal and the white cotton blouse. Jessie 
Mary had at least one quite admirable characteris- 
tic: she doted on white garments and took pride 
in their spotlessness. A very elemental sense for 
the beautiful, yet who dare despise it? In these 
grimy days purity of any kind is great gain. 

This girl’s hunger for the homage and admira- 
tion of the other sex was not so much abnormal as 
unrestrained. Her apparent lack of modesty was 
in reality a superabundance of simplicity — witness 
her shallow artifices and transparent little dis- 
honesties which deceived few save herself and the 
callowest of youths. Men “took their fun off 
her.” And even Macgregor was not to be en- 
trapped now. There is nothing so dead as the 
fallen fancy of a boy. Moreover, Macgregor was 
still at the stage when a girl’s face is her whole 
fortune, when the trimmest waist and the prettiest 
curves are no assets whatsoever. 

For a moment or two he fingered the belt, awk- 
wardly, to be sure, but with as much emotion as 
though it were a dog’s collar. 

“ Ay,” he said, “ ye’re ower jimp for it.” And 
put his hand in his pocket. 

Then, indeed, it was forced on Jessie Mary that 


62 


Courtin' Christina 


somehow her charms had failed to hold her 
youngest admirer. The knowledge rankled. Yet 
she carried it off fairly well. 

‘‘ Ye’re no’ the first to tell me Fve an extra sma’ 
waist,” she said, with a toss of her head. Then, 
as if struck by a remembrance of some duty or 
engagement : But I’ve nae mair time to stan’ 

gassin’ wi’ you. So long ! ” She ran briskly up 
the stone stair, humming a popular tune. 

‘‘ So long,” returned Macgregor, and resumed 
his interrupted journey, rather pleased than other- 
wise with himself. He realised, though not in so 
many words, that he had conducted himself in 
more manly fashion than ever before. It did not 
for a moment occur to him that he had left a big 
“Why?” behind him, not only in the mind of 
Jessie Mary, but in Willie Thomson’s also. 

His pilgrimage ended at the illuminated window 
of M. Tod’s stationery and fancy goods shop. 
Jingling the few coppers in his pockets, he appeared 
to be deliberating a weighty problem of extensive 
purchases, while, as a matter of fact, he inwardly 
debated the most profitable ways of wasting a 
penny. While he would now gladly have given all 
he possessed — to wit, ninepence — to win a smile 
from the girl with the scarlet blouse and the ripe- 
corn-yellow pigtail, he was not prepared to 


Courtin' Christina 


63 


squander more than he could help for the benefit 
of her employer. The opaque panels at the back 
of the window were closed, the door of the shop 
was composed chiefly of ground glass; wherefore 
he had no inkling as to which person he was likely 
to encounter at the receipt of custom. He was 
hoping and waiting for a customer to enter the 
shop, so that he might gain a glimpse of the interior 
with the opening of the door, when suddenly the 
lights in the window were lowered. Evidently it 
was near to closing time. 

Hastily deciding to “ burst ” the sum of one 
penny on the purchase of a pencil — an article for 
which he had more respect than use — he entered 
the doorway and turned the handle. He had for- 
gotten the spring bell. When he pushed the door 
inwards, it “ struck one — right from the 
shoulder, so to speak. Who will assert that the 
ordinary healthy youth has no nerves? ’Tis a 
hoggishly healthy youth who does not bustle with 
them. The sturdy Macgregor wavered on the 
threshold; and as he wavered he heard behind him 
a badly stifled guffaw. 

Next moment a hearty push in the small of the 
back propelled him into the shop. With a hot 
countenance he pulled up, guessing who had pushed 
him, and strove to look as if this were his usual 
mode of entering a place of business. In his con- 


64 


Courtin' Christina 


fusion he missed the quick glance of the girl 
seated at the desk on the window-end of the 
counter. Her head was bent low over her writ- 
ing. He noticed, however, that she was wearing 
a white blouse — which did not remind him of 
Jessie Mary — and that she had a scarlet bow at 
her neck. 

‘‘ Yes, sir? ” A mouse-like human being slipped 
from the back of the shop to the middle point 
of the counter. “Yes, sir?” it repeated, with an 
accent on the query. The girl at the desk took no 
notice. 

Macgregor approached. “ I was wantin’ a 
pencil,” he said in the tone of one requesting a pint 
of prussic acid. 

“ A pencil ! ” exclaimed the mouse-like human 
being, as though she had a dim recollection of 
hearing of such a thing long, long ago. “ A 
pencil — oh, certainly,” she added, more hope- 
fully. 

“ Penny or ha’penny,” murmured the girl at the 
desk. 

“ Penny or ha’penny ? ” demanded the mouse- 
like human being, almost pertly. 

Men didn’t expect change out of a penny ! “ A 

penny yin,” said Macgregor with an attempt at 
indifference. He tried to look at the girl, but 
could not get his eyes higher than her elbow. 


Courtin' Christina 


65 


“ A penny pencil ! ” The mouse-like human 
being assumed an expression suitable to a person 
who has just discovered the precise situation of 
the North Pole, but not the Pole itself. 

‘‘ Top drawer on your left, Miss Tod,’' whis- 
pered the girl at the desk. 

‘‘ Quite so, Christina,” Miss Tod replied with 
dignity. There were times when she might have 
been accused of copying her assistant’s manners. 
She opened the drawer, which was a deep one, 
peered into it, groped, and brought forth three 
bundles of pencils. With sudden mildness she 
enquired of the girl: “These? . . . Those?” 

“No; them!” said Christina, forgetting her 
grammar and grabbing the third bundle. “ Wait 
a minute.” She slipped lightly from her stool and 
gently edged M. Tod from the position at the 
counter which had been familiar to the latter for 
five-and-thirty years. “ This,” she said to Mac- 
gregor, laying the bundle in front of him, “ is a 
special line. One dozen — price threepence.” 
She looked over his head in a manner suggesting 
that it was quite immaterial to her whether he pur- 
chased the dozen or faded away on the spot. 

But he had his dignity too. Producing three 
pennies from two pockets, he laid them on the 
counter, took up the bundle of pencils, said 
“ Thank ye ” to nobody in particular, and marched 


66 


Courtin* Christina 


out. Nor did he forget to close the door behind 
him. 

The stationer and her assistant regarded each 
other for several seconds. 

‘‘ Dae ye think/’ said M. Tod slowly, that that 
young man is a newspaper reporter ? ” 

“ No/’ replied Christina, with a sniff or two of 
her straight little nose. 

‘‘Or a pictur’ artist?” said M. Tod, conveying 
the two bundles to the wrong drawer. 

Christina, without a word, recovered them and 
put them into their proper places. She mounted 
her stool and whipped up a pen. 

M. Tod sighed. “ I never used to keep pencils 
at that price. They canna be vera guid.” 

“ They’re rotten.” 

“Oh, lassie!” 

“ Sell — or gang bankrupt,” said Christina with 
enough bitter cynicism for twenty-one. “ There’s 
a penny profit on the bundle. Ex — cuse me.” 
She dipped her pen. 

* * * * it 

As Macgregor was nearing his home, a prey to 
misery and wroth, a grinning face popped from a 
close-mouth. 

“ Haw ! haw ! Macgreegor ! So ye’re court- 
in’, are ye?” 

As the clock incontinently strikes when the hour 


C ourtin' C hristina 


67 


has come, so struck Macgregor. And he struck so 
hard, that it was afterwards necessary he should 
see Willie Thomson to the latter’s door. Alone 
again, he cast the bundle of pencils into a dark 
entry and made his way home. 

His father, opened the door, smiling a welcome. 
“ Weel, Macgreegor ” 

“ I’m wearied,” said the boy, and passed straight- 
way to his room and bolted the door. Jimsie was 
sleeping like a log, and was, as usual, occupying 
most of the bed. 

Macgregor stood at the old chest of drawers that 
served as dressing-table, his elbows planted there- 
on, his face in his hands. He was wearied. 

But under his tired eyes lay a small oblong pack- 
age with a covering of newspaper. The neatness 
of it made him think of his mother; she had a way 
of making next to nothing look something 
important in a parcel. 

Presently, wondering a little, he undid the paper. 

It contained one of his father’s old razors. 

Five minutes later he was enjoying a real shave. 
The luxury was only exceeded by the importance 
he felt ! And only two cuts that bled worth 
mentioning. . . . 

How one’s life may be changed in two short hours ! 

But Macgregor was still without regret for 
having flung the pencils into the dark entry. 


CHAPTER SIX 


Circumstance rather than circumspection was 
accountable for the fact that Macgregor followed 
the elusive, winding trail of love alone. The 
tender adventures of our ’teens usually consist in 
encounters between two boys and two girls; two 
friends who tacitly admit that they want to meet 
the girls ; two friends who pretend that they do not 
want to see the boys at any distance; and to sum 
up, two pairs of young human beings with but a 
single thought — themselves. Also it may happen, 
now and then, that for lack of likelier company 
Prince Charming goes hunting with Master Fat- 
head, while Princess Lilian Rose lays the scent 
along with Miss Gooseberry, which but adds 
plausibility to the assumption that neither sex has 
the courage of its inclinations. For to be honest, 
there is no cowardice like that of lad’s love; no 
hypocrisy like that of lass’s. But, surely, you re- 
member! And if so it happened that in your own 
day you, perforce, fared solitary to the chase, you 
will sympathise all the more with the unheroic hero 
of this slight record. 


68 


C ourtin' C hristina 


69 


In this respect Macgregor was not fortunate in 
his male friends. The oldest thereof, Willie 
Thomson, openly contemned the female sex, not 
omitting his aunt; the others confined their gallan- 
tries to the breezy pastimes of pushing girls off 
the sidewalk, bawling pleasantries after them, and 
guffawing largely at their own wit or the feminine 
repartee. Their finer instincts were doubtless still 
dormant. The only mortals worthy of respect 
were sundry more or less prominent personages 
whose feet or fists were their fortunes. In these 
days the adoration of the active by the inert is, one 
hopes, at its zenith of inflation. Again, to put it 
now in metaphor, Macgregor’s friends could do 
with a brass band in scarlet uniform all the time, 
but they had no use for a secret orchestra of muted 
strings. All of which was perfectly natural — 
just as natural as Macgregor’s inexplicable 
preference for the secret orchestra. Spring comes 
early or late; the calendar neither foretells nor 
records its coming. A lad and a lass — how and 
when and why the one first realises that the other 
is more than a mere human being are questions 
without answers. Well, it is a mercy that the 
world still holds something that cannot be ex- 
plained away. 

In one sense this boy was no more refined than 
his neighbours; in another they were coarser than 


70 


Courtin* Christina 


he. Remains the fact that he followed the trail 
alone — or thought he did. 

Willie Thomson, for one, was interested. He 
had been interested to the extent of grinning in 
Macgregor’s early tenderness for little Katie, and 
to the extent of sniggering in his friend’s bashful 
pursuit of Jessie Mary. But now the interest was 
that of the boy who discovers a nest just beyond 
his hand and wonders what sort of eggs he will 
get if, somehow, he can reach it. On the whole, 
Willie resented his swollen nose and cut lip less 
than the recent ill-disguised attempts to avoid his 
company. The latter rankled. Truth to tell, 
without Macgregor he was rather a lonely creature, 
a kind of derelict. No one really wanted him. 
He was not without acquaintances, shirkers like 
himself ; but in the congregation of loafers is no 
true comradeship. Without admitting it even to 
himself, he still admired the boy who had faithfully 
championed his cause — not always virtuous — in 
the past, whose material possessions he had 
invariably shared, whose stolid sense of honour 
had so often puzzled his own mischievous mind, 
whose home he had envied despite a certain furtive 
dread of the woman who ruled there. Altogether 
it may be questioned whether Willie’s grudge was 
directed against his old friend and not against that 
which had caused his old friend’s defection. At 


Courtin' Christina 


71 


all events, he began to spare Macgregor any 
necessity for dodging, and took to shadowing him 
on his solitary strolls. 

On the grey Saturday afternoon of the week 
rendered so eventful by his first real shave, Mac- 
gregor was once more standing by the window of 
M. Tod’s shop. He was endeavouring to prop up 
his courage with the recollection of the fact that a 
fortnight ago, at the same hour as the present, 
there had been no old woman behind the counter, 
and with the somewhat rash deduction that no old 
woman was there now. 

He was also wondering what he could buy for a 
penny without making a fool of himself. The 
spending of a penny when there is absolutely 
nothing one wants to buy is not quite so simple a 
transaction as at first thought it may seem 
— unless, of course, the shop is packed with 
comestibles; and even then one may hesitate to 
choose. Besides, Macgregor was obsessed by the 
memory of the pencil transaction of three nights 
ago. Had he but kept his head then, and confined 
his purchase to a single pencil, he might now have 
had a fair excuse for requiring another. At any 
rate, he could have met suspicion with the explana- 
tion that he had lost the first. But who would 
believe that he had used, or lost, a whole dozen 
within the brief space of three days? 


72 


Courtin' Christina 


A wretched position to be in, for nothing else in 
the world of stationery was quite so natural and 

easy to ask for as a pencil — unless a Why 

had he not thought of it before? — a pen! Saved! 
He would enter boldly, as one who had every right 
to do so, and demand to be shown some pencils 
— no, pens, of course. There were many varieties 
of pens, he knew, even in small shops, so his selec- 
tion would take time — lots of time! If only he 
were sure the old woman wasn’t there. 

And just then the bell rang, the door of the shop 
opened and closed, and the old woman herself 
came out. In spite of her hat Macgregor recog- 
nised her at once. She turned her face skywards 
to make certain that it wasn’t raining, gave a 
satisfied smirk, which Macgregor accepted with a 
fearful start, though it was intended for the 
window and its contents, and trotted up the street. 

On the wave of relief, as it were, Macgregor 
was carried from the window to the entrance. Yet 
he had no sooner opened the door with its discon- 
certing note of warning than he wished he had 
delayed a minute or two longer. To retire, 
however, was out of the question. He closed the 
door as though he were afraid of wakening a 
baby, and faced the counter. 

The girl was there, and wearing the scarlet 
blouse again. Laying aside the magazine which 


Courtin' Christina 


73 


she had just picked up, she smiled coldly and said 
calmly: ‘‘Good-afternoon. Nice day after the 
rain.’’ 

In mentally rehearsing his entrance the previous 
night Macgregor had, among other things, seen 
himself raise his brand-new bowler hat. To his 
subsequent shame and regret, he now omitted to 
perform the little courtesy. That he should forget 
his manners was perhaps even less surprising than 
that he should forget the hat itself, which gripped 
his head in a cruel fashion. 

“ Ay,” he said solemnly in response to the polite 
greeting, and advanced to the counter. 

“ Not just so disagreeable as yesterday,” she 
added, a trifle more cordially. 

“ Ay — na.” He glanced up and down the 
counter. “I — I was wantin’ a pencil,” he said at 
last. 

“ A pencil! ” cried Christina ; then in a voice 
from which all the amazement had gone : “ A 
pencil — oh, certainly.” 

Macgregor reddened, opened his mouth and — 
shut it. Why should he make a bigger fool of 
himself by explaining that he had meant to say “ a 
pen?” Besides (happy thought!) the pen would 
be an excuse for calling another time. 

Christina opened the drawer and paused, pursing 
her lips. Her tone was casual as she said : “ I 


74 


Courtin* Christina 


hope you found the dozen you bought lately quite 
satisfactory/' 

“ Oh — ay, they were — splendid.” Macgregor 
blushed again. 

Christina smiled as prettily as any musical 
comedy actress selling guinea button-holes at a 
charity fete. She said : “ I’ll tell Miss Tod. 

She’ll be delighted. It’s a great saving, buying a 
dozen, isn’t it ? ” Her hand went into the drawer. 
“ Especially when one uses so many. It’s hardly 
worth while buying a single pencil, is it ? ” Her 
hand came out of the drawer and laid a bundle in 
front of Macgregor. “ Wonderful how they can 
do it for threepence ! ” 

He stared at the bundle, his will fluttering like 
a bird under a strawberry net. Dash the pencils! 
— but she might be offended if 

‘‘ Some shops sell those pencils at a ha’penny 
each, I know,” she went on; ‘‘and I believe some 
have the neck — I mean the cheek to ask a penny. 
Would you like me to put them in paper, sir ? ” 

Recovering from the shock of the “ sir,” Mac- 
gregor shook his head, and laid three coppers on 
the counter. 

“ Thank you,” said she. “ Is there anything 
else to-day ? ” 

Before he could answer, the door opened and an 
elderly man entered. At the ring of the bell Mac- 


Courtin' Christina 


75 


gregor dropped the bundle; the flimsy fastening 
parted, and the pencils were scattered, 

Christina checked an “Oh, crickey!’' and 
turned to attend to the second customer while the 
first collected his purchases from the floor. 

The elderly man wanted a newspaper only, but 
thanks to Christina's politeness over the transac- 
tion, he went out feeling as if he had done quite a 
stroke of business. 

“ I think you should let me tie them up for you," 
she said to Macgregor, who was rising once more, 
rather red in the face. 

“ Thank ye," he said apologetically, handing her 
the pencils. 

“ Accidents will happen," she remarked cheer- 
fully. “If they didn’t, there would be mighty 
little happening. I say, there’s only eleven pencils 
here." 

“ The ither rolled ablow the counter. It doesna 
matter," he said. 

“ Oh, but that won’t do. See, I’ll give you an- 
other now, and get the one under the counter some 
day — next stock-taking, maybe." She began to 
make a parcel, then halted in the operation. “ Are 
you sure there’s nothing else that I can show you 
to-day, sir?" 

Macgregor didn’t want to go just yet, so he 
appeared to be thinking deeply. 


76 


Courtin' Christina 


‘‘Essay paper — notebooks,” she murmured; 
“ notepaper — envelopes — indiarubber ” 

“ In j inrubber,” said Macgregor. (He would 
give it to Jimsie.) 

She turned and whipped a box from a shelf. 
“ Do you prefer the red or the white — species ? ” 
she enquired, and felt glad she hadn’t said “ sort.” 

“ Oh, Fm no heedin’ which,” he replied gener- 
ously, with a bare glance at the specimens laid out 
for his inspection. 

“ All the same price — one penny per cake. The 
red is more flexible.” By way of exhibiting its 
quality, she took the oblong lengthwise between 
her finger and thumb and squeezed. To her dis- 
may it sprang from her grip and struck her cus- 
tomer on the chin. 

“ Oh, mercy ! ” she exclaimed. “ I didna mean — ” 

Recovering the missile from the floor, he said 
gravely : “ My ! ye’re a comic ! ” 

“ I’m not ! I tell ye I didna mean it. Did it 
hurt ye? ” 

“ No’ likely ! I ken ye didna try it.” He 
smiled faintly. “If ye had tried to hit me, ye wud 
ha’e missed me.” 

“ If I had tried, I wud ha’e hit ye a heap harder,” 
she said indignantly. 

“ Try, then.” His smile broadened as he offered 
her the cake. “ I’ll stan’ still.” 


Courtin' Christina 


77 


Christina’s sporting instinct was roused. “ I’ll 
bet ye the price o’ the cake I hit ye.” And let fly. 

It went over his left shoulder. 

“ Ha’e anither shot,” he said, stooping to pick 
up the rubber. 

But as swiftly as it had gone her professional 
dignity returned. Macgregor came back to the 
counter to receive a stiff : Thank you. Do you 

require anything else to-day ? ” 

His mumbled negative, his disappointed counte- 
nance reproached her. 

“ Of course,” she said pleasantly, as she put his 
purchases in paper, “ I cannot charge you for the 
indiarubber.” 

‘‘ Aw, cheese it ! ” he muttered shortly, flinging 
a penny on the counter. 

beg your pardon?” — this with supreme 
haughtiness. 

Oh, ye needna. An’ ye can keep yer in jin- 
rubber — an’ yer pencils forbye ! ” With these 
words he wheeled about and strode for the door. 

Christina collapsed. A customer who paid for 
goods and then practically threw them at her was 
beyond her experience and comprehension. 

‘‘ Here ! ” she cried. Stop a minute ! I — I 
was jist jokin’. Come back an’ get yer. things. 
We’ll no’ quarrel aboot the penny.” 

With his fingers on the handle he paused and 


78 


Court in* Christina 


regarded her half angrily, half reproachfully. He 
wanted to say something very cutting, but it 
wouldn’t come. 

“ Please,” said Christina softly, dropping her 
eyes. Ye’ll get me into trouble if ye dinna tak’ 
them.” 

“Eh?” 

“ Miss Tod wud be vexed wi’ me for lossin* a 
guid customer. She wud gi’e me the sack, 
maybe.” 

“Wud she? — the auld besom!” cried Mac- 
gregor, retracing his steps. 

“ Oh, whisht ! She’s no’ an auld besom. But 
I ken she wud be vexed.” Christina sighed. “ I 
suppose I’m to blame for ” 

“ It’s me that’s to blame,” he interrupted. 
“ Here ! ” he said in an unsteady whisper, “ will ye 
shake ban’s ? ” 

After a momentary hesitation she gave him her 
hand, saying graciously: “I’ve no objections. I’m 
sure. To tell the truth,” she went on, “ I am not 
entirely disinterested in you, sir.” 

Macgregor withdrew his empty hand. “I — I 
wish ye wudna speak like that,” he sighed. 

“ Like what?” 

“ That awfu’ genteel talk.” 

“ Sorry,” she said. “ But it gangs doon wi’ 
maist o’ the customers. Besides, I try to keep it 


Courtin^ Christina 


79 


up to please ma aunt. But it doesna soun’ 
frien’ly-like, does it ? ” 

“ That’s why I dinna like it,” he ventured, more 
easily. 

“ I see. But if ye was servin’ in a shop ye wud 
ha’e to speak the same way.” 

“ I’m in the pentin’ trade,” he informed her, 
with an air of importance. 

‘‘ I’ve a nose — but I like the smell fine. Ye’re 
no’ offended, are ye?” 

“ I’m no’ that easy offended. Is Miss Tod yer 
aunt?” 

“ Na, na; she’s nae relation. Ma aunt is Mrs. 
James Baldwin.” In the frankest fashion she 
gave a brief sketch of her position on the world’s 
surface. While she spoke she seated herself on 
the stool, and Macgregor, without thinking about it, 
subsided upon the chair and leant his arm upon the 
counter. Ere she ended they were regarding each 
other almost familiarly. 

Anon Macgregor furnished a small account of 
himself and his near relatives. 

‘‘ That’s queer ! ” commented Christina when he 
had finished. 

What ? ” he asked, anxiously. 

“ Ma Uncle James is a great frien’ o’ your 
Uncle Purdie. Your uncle buys a heap o’ fancy 
things frae mine, an’ he’s often been in oor hoose. 


8o 


Courtin' Christina 


I hear he’s worth a terrible heap o’ money, but nae- 
body wud think it. I like him fine.” 

‘‘Ye wudna like ma aunt fine,” said Macgregor. 

“ No’ bein’ acquaint wi’ her, I canna say,” 
Christina returned. “ But I believe if it hadna 
been for her yer uncle wud never ha’e made his 
fortune at the grocery trade ” 

“ Her ! What had she got to dae wi’ ’t ? ” 

“Dear knows; but Uncle James says she egged 
him on to mak’ money frae the day she married 
him. But mony a woman does that. I wud dae 
it masel’ — no’ that I’m greedy; I jist couldna 
endure a man that didna get on. I hate a stick- 
in-the-mud. It’s a fac’, though, that Mr. Purdie 
got the push-on frae his wife. An’ Uncle James 
says he’s no’ near done yet: he’ll be Lord Provost 
afore he’s feenished. Ye should keep in wi’ yer 
Uncle Purdie.” 

Macgregor scarcely heard her latter words. His 
Aunt Purdie responsible for his Uncle Purdie’s 
tremendous success in business ! The idea was 
almost shocking. From his earliest boyhood it 
had been a sort of religion with him to admire his 
uncle and despise his aunt. Could any good thing 
come out of Aunt Purdie? 

“ I doobt yer Uncle James doesna ken her extra 
weel,” he said at last. 

“ Oh, ma uncle’s a splendid judge o’ character,” 


Courtin' Christina 


8i 


she assured him. “ Especially female character/' 
she added. “ That’s why he married ma aunt an’ 
adopted me. I took his name, like ma aunt did 
when she married him. It was a love match, in 
spite o’ their ages. There’s grander names, but 
nane better, nor Baldwin. In ma youth I called it 
Bald-yin to tease ma aunt when she was saft on 
him. But never heed aboot that the noo. D’ye 
ken what astonishes me aboot yersel’ ? ” 

“ What ? ” asked Macgregor, startled. 

‘‘ That ye’re no’ in the grocery trade.” 

‘‘ Me ! What for wud I be a grocer ? ” 

‘‘What for are ye a penter? An’ yer Uncle 
Purdie has nae offspring. My! if I had had a 
chance like you ! ” She heaved a sigh. “ I’m 
sure yer uncle wud ha’e ta’en ye into his business. 
Ye canna be sae stupid that he wudna gi’e ye even 
a trial. Nae offence intended.” 

“ I could ha’e been in the business if I had 
wanted,” Macgregor replied, with some dignity. 
“ He offered me a job when I left the schule. But, 
ye see, I aye had the notion to be a penter. I like 
to be movin’ ma ban’s an’ feet.” 

“ An’ what did yer parents say ? ” 

“ They canna thole Aunt Purdie. It was her 
that brought the message frae ma uncle — as if it 
was a favour. They said I was to choose for 
masel’.” 


Courtin^ Christina 


82 


‘‘ Pride’s an awfu’ thing for costin’ folk cash,” 
the girl remarked, with a shake of her head. 
“Eh?” 

“ Naething,” she replied. After a slight pause 
she continued : “ It’s no’ for me to speak aboot 

yer parents, but I hope ye’ll excuse me sayin’ that 
ye’re a bigger fool than ye look.” 

“ Wha — what d’ye mean ? ” 

“ I didna mean to insult ye or hurt yer feelin’s.” 
Another pause. “ D’ye no’ want to get up in the 
world, man ? D’ye no’ want to be a millionaire — 
or a thoosandaire, onyway?” 

“ Me?” 

“Ay, you!” 

Across the counter he regarded her in a semi- 
dazed fashion, speechless. She was rather 
flushed ; her eyes danced with eagerness. Ap- 
parently she was all in earnest. 

“Are ye gaun to be a penter a’ yer life?” she 
demanded. 

“ What for no’ ? ” he retorted with some spirit. 
“ It’s guid pay.” 

“ Guid pay I In ten year what’ll ye be makin’ ? ” 

“ I couldna say. Maybe — maybe twenty-five 
shillin’s ; maybe ” 

“A week?” 

“ Ay ; of course,” he said, nettled. “ D’ye think 
I meant a month ? ” 


C ourtin* C hristina 


83 


“If ye was wi’ yer uncle an' slickin' to yer busi- 
ness, I wud ha'e said ‘ a day ' ! Ma gracious good- 
ness ! if ye was pleasin' a man like that, there's nae 
say in' where ye wud be in ten year." 

“ Ach," he said, with an attempt at lightness, 
“ I'm no' heedin'." 

Christina doubled her fist and smote the counter 
with such violence that he fairly jumped on his 
seat. 

“Ye're no' heedin'! What's the use o' bein' 
alive if ye're no' heedin'? But ye're a' the same, 
you young workin' men. Yer rule is to dae the 
least ye can for yer wages, an' never snap at an 
opportunity. An' when ye get aulder ye gang on 
strike an' gas aboot yer rights, but ye keep dumb 
enough aboot yer deserts, an' " 

“ Here, baud on ! " cried Macgregor, now 
thoroughly roused. “ What dae you ken aboot 
it? Ye're jist a lassie " 

“ I've eyes an' ears." 

There was a pause. 

“ Are ye a — a suffragist? " he asked, weakly. 

“ I ha'ena quite decided on that p'int. Are you 
in favour o' votes for females? Aweel, there's 
nae use answerin', for ye've never thought aboot it. 
I suppose, like the ither young men aboot here, ye 
buy yer brains every Seturday done up in the 
sports edition o' the evenin' paper. Oh, Chris- 


84 Courtin* Christina 


topher Columbus! that’s when / get busy on a 
Seturday nicht. Footba’ — footba’ — footba’ I ” 

Macgregor swallowed these remarks, and re- 
verted to the previous question. “ What,” he 
enquired a little loftily, ‘‘ dae you expec’ to be 
earnin’ ten year frae the noo? ” 

Promptly, frankly, she replied: ‘‘If I’m no’ 
drawin’ thirty shillin’s a week I’ll consider masel’ 
a bad egg. Of course, it a’ depends on whether I 
select to remain single or itherwise.” 

This was too much for Macgregor. He sur- 
veyed her with such blank bewilderment that she 
burst out laughing. 

He went red to the roots of his hair, or at any 
rate to the edge of his hat. “ Oh, I kent fine ye 
was coddin’ me,” he said crossly, looking hurt and 
getting to his feet. 

She stopped laughing at once. “ That’s the 
worst o’ talkin’ plain sense nooadays; folk think 
ye’re only coddin’,” she observed, good-humouredly. 
“ I’m sorry I vexed ye.” Impulsively she held out 
her hand. “ I doobt we’ll ha’e to shake again.” 

This, also, was too much for Macgregor. He 
seized her fingers in a grip that made her squeal. 

And just then bang went the bell above the door. 

Christina bit her lip and smiled through her tears 
as M. Tod entered the shop. 

“Anything else to-day?” she enquired in her 


Courtin' Christina 


8s 


politest voice, and placed the little parcel under 
Macgregor’s hand. 

His reply was inaudible. His hand closed auto- 
matically on his purchase, his eyes met hers for 
the fraction of a second, and then he practically 
bolted. 

Young men are aye in sich a great hurry nooa- 
days,’’ remarked M. Tod, beginning to remove her 
gloves. 

“ He's the young man that bought the dizzen 
pencils the ither nicht," Christina explained, exam- 
ining the joints of her right hand. ‘‘ I've just been 
sellin' him anither dizzen." 

Dearie me ! he must be a reporter on yin of the 
papers." 

'' He's a whale for pencils, whatever he is," 
Christina returned, putting straight the piles of 
periodicals that adorned the counter. ‘‘ I doobt he 
wud need to report wi' his feet forbye his ban's to 
get through a dizzen pencils in three days. It's a 
bit o' a mystery aboot the pencils." 

‘‘ A mystery! " exclaimed M. Tod, who was just 
about to blow into a glove. 

Christina picked the neglected penny from the 
counter and dropped it into the till. “ It's a case 
o' cherchez la femme” she said softly, with quite 
a passable accent. 

‘‘What's that?" murmured M. Tod. 


86 Courtin' Christina 


French,” sighed Christina, making a jotting of 
her last sales, and taking a long time to do it. 

M. Tod stared for a moment or two, shook her 
head, drew a long breath, and with the same inflated 
her glove. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


Macgregor was half-way home ere he compre- 
hended the cause of the dull ache about his temples. 
He eased his hat and obtained relief. But there 
was no lid to lift from his mind which seemed to 
be overcrowded with a jumble of ideas — old ideas 
turned topsy-turvy, some damaged, some twisted, 
and new ideas struggling, as it were, for existence. 
Moral earthquakes are not infrequent during our 
’teens and twenties ; by their convulsions they 
provide construction material for character; but 
the material is mixed, and we are left to choose 
whether we shall erect sturdy towers or jerry- 
buildings. 

The boy was not, of course, aware that here was 
a crisis in his life. He was staggered and dis- 
turbed, just as he would have been had the smooth, 
broad street on which he walked suddenly become 
a narrow pass beset with rifts and boulders. The 
upheaval of his preconceived notions of girlhood 
had been sharp indeed. He had never heard a 
girl speak as Christina had spoken; it had never 
87 


88 


Courtin' Christina 


occurred to him that a girl could speak so. But 
while he felt hurt and vexed, he harboured no 
resentment; her frank friendliness had disposed of 
that; and while he was humbled, he was not — 
thanks to his modesty, or, if you prefer it, lack of 
cocksureness — grievously humiliated. It is not 
in the nature of healthy youth to let misery have all 
its own way. 

Before he reached home he was able to extract 
several sips of comfort from his recent experience. 
He knew her name and she knew his; they had 
discovered a mutual acquaintance (how we love 
those mutual acquaintances — sometimes!); they 
had shaken hands twice. 

He spent the evening indoors — he might have 
done otherwise had not Christina said something 
about being busy on Saturday nights. He was 
patient with his little brother, almost tender towards 
his sister. He played several games of draughts 
with his father, wondering between his deplorable 
moves when he should see Christina again. He 
spoke in a subdued fashion. And about nine 
o’clock his mother anxiously asked him whether he 
was feeling quite well, and offered to prepare a 
homely potion. One regrets to record that he 
returned a rough answer and went off to bed, leav- 
ing Lizzie to shake her head more in sorrow than 
in anger while she informed John that she doubted 


Courtin' Christina 


89 


Macgregor was sickenin’ for something.” As 
Macgregor had not condescended to play draughts 
for at least two years, John Avas inclined to share 
her fears ; it did not occur to him to put down such 
conduct to feminine influence; and an hour later, 
at her suggestion, he went to his son’s room and 
softly opened the door. 

‘*Oh! ye’re no’ in yer bed yet, Macgreegor?” 

‘‘ I’m jist gaun.” 

‘‘ What are ye workin’ at ? ” 

“Jist sharpenin’ a pencil. I’ll no’ be lang” — 
impatiently. 

“Are ye feelin’ weel enough?” 

“ I’m fine. Dinna fash yersel’.” 

John withdrew and reported to Lizzie. She was 
not satisfied, and before going to bed, about eleven 
o’clock, she listened at Macgregor’s door. All she 
heard was : “ Here, Jimsie, I wish to peace ye wud 

keep yer feet to yersel’.” 

She opened the door. “ Laddie, are ye no’ sleep- 
in’ yet ? ” 

“ Hoo can I sleep wi’ Jimsie jabbin’ his feet in 
ma back ? ” 

She entered, and going to the bed removed the 
unconscious Jimsie to his own portion thereof, at 
the same time urging him into a more comfortable 
position. Then she came round and laid her hand 
on her first-born’s brow. 


90 


Court in* Christina 


Are ye sure ye’re a’ richt, laddie ? ” 

Ay, I’m fine. I wish ye wudna fash,” he said 
shortly, turning over. 

Lizzie went out, closing the door gently. On the 
kitchen dresser she set out the medicine bottle and 
spoon against emergencies. 

Perhaps there is a mansion in Heaven that will 
always be empty — a mansion waiting to receive 
those who in their youth never snubbed their 
anxious parents. Ere the door closed Macgregor 
was pricked with compunction. He was sensitive 
enough for that. But it is the sensitive people who 
hurt the people they care for. 

In extenuation let it be said at once that the boy 
was enduring a dire reaction. It now appeared 
that Christina’s friendliness had been all in the way 
of business. Socially (he did not think the word, 
of course) Christina was beyond him. Christina, 
for all he knew, sat at night in a parlour, had an 
aunt that kept a servant (and, maybe, a grama- 
phone), was accustomed to young men in high 
collars and trousers that always looked new. Yes, 
she had shaken hands with him simply in order to 
get him to come back and buy another dozen of 
pencils. 

He was very unhappy. He tossed from side to 
side until the voice of Jimsie, drowsy and peevish, 
declared that he had taken all the clothes. Which 


Courtin' Christina 


91 


was practically true, though he did not admit it as 
he disentangled himself of the blankets and flung 
them all at his brother. He did not care if he 
froze — until he began to feel a little cold, when he 
rescued with difficulty a portion of the coverings 
from Jimsie’s greedy clutch. He would not go to 
the shop again. But he would pass it as often as 
possible. He would get Willie Thomson to accom- 
pany him, and they would smoke cigarettes, and 
they would stop at the door when a customer was 
entering, and laugh very loudly. He would save 
up and take Jessie Mary to the dance — at least, he 
would think about it. After all, it might be more 
effective to go to the shop and buy more presents 
for Jessie Mary and — oh, great idea ! — request 
with great unconcern that they should be sent to 
her address ! 

The clock in the kitchen struck one. With any 
sympathy at all it would have struck at least five. 
It was like telling a person in the throes of tooth- 
ache that the disease is not serious. By the way, 
one wonders if doctors will ever know as much 
about disease as patients know about pain. Specu- 
lation apart, it is a sorry business to flatter our- 
selves we have been suffering all night only to find 
that the night is but beginning. Still, there must 
have been something far wrong with the Robin- 
sons' kitchen clock. Macgregor waited, but to his 


92 


Courtin' Christina 


knowledge it never struck two. Indeed, it missed 
all the hours until nine. 

Macgregor, however, presented himself in good 
time for the Sunday breakfast. His punctuality 
was too much for his mother, and she insisted on 
his taking a dose from the bottle on the dresser. 
Even youth is sometimes too tired to argue. 
“ Onything for peace,’’ was his ungracious remark 
as he raised the spoon to his lips. 

Scotland in its harshest, bleakest period of 
religious observance could not have provided a 
more dismal Sabbath than Macgregor provided for 
himself. Although his mother gave him the option 
of staying at home, he accompanied his parents to 
church; although he came back with a good appe- 
tite, he refused to let himself enjoy his dinner; 
although he desired to take the accustomed Sunday 
afternoon walk with his father down to the docks 
(they had gone there, weather permitting, for 
years), he shut himself up in the solitude of his 
bedroom. 

He spent most of the afternoon in putting points 
to his stock of pencils. How the operation should 
have occupied so much time may be explained by 
the fact that the lead almost invariably parted from 
the wood ere a perfect point was attained. Indeed, 
when the task was ended, he had comparatively 


C ourtin' C hristina 


93 


little to show for his threepence save a heap of 
shavings, fragments and dust. His resentment, 
however, was all against M. Tod; he wished she 
had been of his own sex and size. He also wished 
she had kept an ice-cream shop, open on Sundays. 

— No, he didn’t ! Christina wouldn’t like work- 
ing on Sundays; besides, an awful lot of chaps 
hung about ice-cream shops. He wondered what 
church Christina attended. If he only knew, he 
might go there in the evening. (What our 
churches owe to young womanhood will never be 
known.) But there were scores of churches in 
Glasgow. It would take years to get round them 

— and in the end she might sit in the gallery and 
he under it. In the unlikely event of his again 
entering Miss Tod’s shop, there would be no harm 
in asking Christina about her church and whether 
she sang in the choir. But stop! if she didn’t sing 
in the choir, she might think he was chaffing her. 
That wouldn’t do at all. Better just find out about 
the church, and if he didn’t get a view of her on 
his first visit he could try again. 

There appears no reason why Macgregor’s spirits 
should have gradually risen throughout these and 
other equally rambling reflections; but the fact 
remains that they did so. By tea-time he was in a 
comely condition of mind. He made young Jimsie 
happy with the cake of rubber and presented Jeannie 


94 


Court in Christina 


surreptitiously with a penny, “ to buy sweeties.” 
He seemed interested in his father’s account of a 
vessel that had been in collision the previous day. 
He did not scowl when his mother expressed satis- 
faction with the way in which he was punishing the 
bread and butter, and openly congratulated herself 
on having administered the physic just in time. 
Nay, more; he offered to stay in the house with 
Jimsie while John and Lizzie took an evening stroll 
and Jeannie went with a friend to evening service. 
No people are quite so easily made happy as parents, 
and when, out-of-doors, John suggested that Mac- 
gregor’s weekly allowance should be raised to one 
shilling, Lizzie actually met him half-way by 
promising to make it ninepence in future. 

During their absence Macgregor did his utmost 
to amuse Jimsie, who was suffering from an 
incipient cold, but shortly after their return he 
became restless, and ere long announced (rather 
indistinctly) his intention of going out for ‘‘ twa- 
three ” minutes. 

Lizzie was about to ask ‘‘where?” when John 
remarked that it was a fine night and that he would 
come too. Thus was frustrated Macgregor’s 
desire to take one look at the shuttered shrine with 
“ M. Tod ” over the portal — a very foolish sort of 
desire, as many of us know — from experience. 

In the circumstances Macgregor accepted his 


C ourtin' C hristina 


95 


father's company with a fairly good grace, merely 
submitting that the walk should be a short one. 

On the way home, at a corner, under a lamp, 
they came upon Willie Thomson in earnest and 
apparently amicable conversation with Jessie Mary. 
Such friendliness struck Macgregor as peculiar, for 
since the days of their childhood the twain had 
openly expressed contempt and dislike for each 
other, and he wondered what was “ up," especially 
when the sight of him appeared to cause Willie, at 
least, considerable embarrassment. But presently 
the happy idea flashed upon him that Willie had 
suddenly become ‘‘ sweet " on Jessie Mary, and 
would accordingly need to be dodged no longer. 
He felt more friendly towards Willie than for some 
time past. His feelings with regard to Jessie 
Mary were less deflnite, but he was sure his face 
had not got “ extra red " under her somewhat 
mocking glance. 

‘‘ Ye're no' as thick wi' Wullie as ye used to be," 
his father remarked. 

“ Oh, we've nae quarrel," he returned. “ What 
did ye say was the name o' that damaged boat ye 
saw the day ? " 

3|e Jfc * * * 

He went to bed not unhappy. He would find a 
way of knowing Christina better and proving to her 
that the painting trade was as good as any. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


“ YeVe been in business a long time. Miss Tod,^' 
said Christina on Monday afternoon, looking up 
from the front advertising page of a newspaper; 
‘‘ so I wish ye wud tell me yer honest opinion o’ 
business in general.” 

M. Tod paused in the act of polishing a fancy 
ink-pot (she had spasms of industry for which 
there was no need) and stared in bewildered 
fashion at her assistant. “ Dearie me, lassie ! ” she 
exclaimed, ‘‘ ye say the queerest things ! Ma 
honest opinion o’ business ? Fm sure I never 
thought aboot ” 

‘‘ ril put it anither way. Supposin’ ye was back 
at the schule, an’ ye was asked to define business 
— ye ken what define means — what wud be yer 
answer ? ” 

“Is it fun ye’re after?” M. Tod enquired, a 
trifle suspiciously. 

“ I was never mair serious in ma life,” Christina 
returned rather indignantly. 

“ I didna mean to offend ye,” the other said 
gently. “ But ye ken fine what business is — 
96 


C ourtin' C hristina 


97 


whiles I think ye ken better nor me, though I’ve 
been at it for near six-an’-thirty years.’’ 

“ I’m not offended,” said Christina, dropping 
the vernacular for the moment. “ And I merely 
desired to know if your definition of business was 
the same as mine.” 

It always made M. Tod a little nervous when her 
assistant addressed her in such correct speech. 
‘‘ Business,” she began, and halted. She set the 
ink-pot on the counter, and tried to put the duster 
in her pocket. 

“A few words will suffice,” the girl remarked 
encouragingly, and took charge of the duster. 

‘‘ Business,” resumed the old woman, and quite 
unconsciously put her hands behind her back, 
‘‘ business is jist buyin’ and sellin’.” And she gave 
a little smile of relief and satisfaction. 

Christina shook her head. “ I suppose that’s 
what they taught ye at the schule — jist the same 
as they taught me. If it wasna for their fancy 
departments, sich as physiology an’ Sweedish 
drill, the schules wud be oot o’ date. ‘Jist buyin’ 
an’ sellin’ ! ’ — Oh, Christopher Columbus ! ” 

M. Tod was annoyed, partly, no doubt, at dis- 
covering her hands behind her back, but ere she 
could express herself Christina added: 

“ In ma honest opinion business chiefly consists 
in folk coddin’ yin anither.” - - 


98 


Courtin' Christina 


M. Tod gasped. Coddin’ ! D’ye mean de- 
ceivin’ ? ” 

“Na; there’s a difference between coddin’ an’ 
deceivin’. Same sort o’ difference as between war 
an’ murder. An’ they say that all’s fair in love — 
I ha’e ma doobts aboot love — an’ war. Mind ye, 
I’m no’ say in’ ony thing against coddin’. We’re a’ 
in the same boat. Some cods wi’ advertisin’ — see 
daily papers; some cods wi’ talk; some cods wi’ 
lookin’ solemn an’ smilin’ jist at the right times. 
But we’re a’ coddin’, cod, cod, coddin’ ! But we’ll 
no’ admit it! An’ naebody wud thank us if we 
did.” 

The old woman was almost angry. I’m sure 
I never codded a customer in ma life,” she cried. 

Christina regarded her very kindly for a second 
or two ere she returned pleasantly : I wudna say 

but what you’re an exception to the rule. Miss Tod. 
But ye’re a rare exception. Even ma uncle — an’ 
he’s the honestest man in the world — once codded 
me when I was assistin’ ma aunt at Kilmabeg, afore 
she got married. Wi’ his talk an’ his smiles he got 
me to buy things against ma better judgment — 
things I was sure wud never sell. If he had been 
dumb an’ I had been blind, I would never ha’e 
made the purchase. But I was young then. Of 
course he didna want to cod me; it was jist a habit 
he had got into wi’ bein’ in business. But there’s 


Courtin' Christina 


99 


nae doobt,” she went on calmly, ignoring M. Tod’s 
obvious desire to get a word in, ‘‘ there’s nae doobt 
that coddin’ is yin o’ the secrets o’ success. When 
ye consider that half the trade o’ the world consists 
in sellin’ things that folk dinna need an’ whiles 
dinna want ” 

“Whisht, lassie! Ye speak as if naebody had 
a conscience ! ” 

“ I didna mean that,” was the mild reply. “ It’s 
the only thing in this world that’s no’ easy codded 
— though some folk seem to be able to do the 
trick. For, of course, there’s a limit to coddin’ in 
business — fair coddin’, I mean. But ye’ve taken 
ma remarks ower seriously. Miss Tod.” 

“ I never heard sich remarks in a’ ma days.” 

“ I’m sorry I’ve annoyed ye.” 

“Ye ha’ena annoyed me, dearie. But I’m 
vexed to think ye’ve got sich notions in yer young 
heid.” M. Tod sighed. 

Christina sighed also, a little impatiently, and 
picked up the fancy ink-pot from the counter. 
“ Hoo lang ha’e ye had this in the shop? ” she 
enquired carelessly. 

M. Tod shook her head. “ Ten years, onyway. 
It wudna sell.” 

“ It’s marked eighteenpence.” 

“Ay. But when I had a wee sale, five year 
back, I put it among a lot of nick-nacks at three- 


Courtin' Christina 


lOO 


pence, an' even then it wudna sell. It’s no’ pretty.” 

“ It’s ugly — but that’s nae reason for it no’ 
sellin’.” Christina examined the glass carefully. 
“ It’s no’ in bad condition,” she observed. “ Wud 
ye part wi’ it for ninepence ? ” 

‘‘ Ninepence! I’ll never get ninepence!” 

“ Never say die till ye’re buried ! Jist wait a 
minute.” Christina went over to the desk and 
spent about five minutes there, while M. Tod 
watched her with intermittent wags of her old 
head. 

The girl came back with a small oblong of white 
card. “ Dinna touch it, Miss Tod. The ink’s no’ 
dry,” she said warningly, and proceeded to place 
the inkpot and card together in a prominent posi- 
tion on the glass show-case that covered a part of 
the counter. “ Noo, that’ll gi’e it a chance. In- 
stead o’ keepin’ it in a corner as if we were 
ashamed o’ it, we’ll mak’ a feature o’ it for a week, 
an’ see what happens. Ye’ll get yer ninepence 
yet.” 

Christina printed admirably, and her employer 
had no difficulty in reading the card a yard away 
even without her glasses. It bore these words : 

ANTIQUE 
NOVEL GIFT 

MERELY 9D. 


C oiirtin* C Kristina 


lOI 


‘‘If ye call a thing ‘ antique/ ” explained Chris- 
tina, “ folk forget its ugliness. An’ the public 
likes a thing wi’ ‘ novel ’ on it, though they wudna 
believe ye if ye said it was new. An’ as for ‘ gift ’ 
— weel, that adds to the inkpot’s chances o’ findin’ 
a customer. D’ye see ? ” 

“ Ay,” said the old woman. “ Ye’re a clever 
lassie, but I doobt ye’ll never get ninepence.” 

“ Gi’e me a week,” said Christina, “ an’ if it 
doesna disappear in that time, we’ll keep it till 
Christmas an’ reduce it to a shillin’. But I think 
a week’ll suffice.” 

M. Tod hesitated ere she gently said: “But 
ye’ll no try to cod onybody, dearie ? ” 

Christina waved her hand in the direction of 
the card. “ I’ll leave the public to cod itsel’,” she 
said. “ Noo it’s time ye was gettin’ ready for yer 
walk.” 

s|£ ♦ ♦ 

It may have been that Christina, in the back of 
her mind, saw in Macgregor a possible customer 
for the ugly inkpot. At any rate, she was disap- 
pointed when the evening passed without his enter- 
ing the shop; she hoped she had not spoken too 
plainly to him on his last visit — not but what he 
needed plain speaking. She was not to know until 
later how Macgregor’s employer had unexpectedly 


102 


Courtin' Christina 


decreed that he should work overtime that night, 
nor how Macgregor had obeyed joylessly despite 
the extra pay. 

He called the following evening — and found 
M. Tod alone at the receipt of custom. He had 
yet to learn that on Tuesdays and Thursdays 
Christina left business early in order to attend 
classes. He must have looked foolish as he ap- 
proached the counter, yet he had the presence of 
mind to ask for a ha’penny evening paper. 
Fortune being fickle — thank goodness ! — does not 
confine her favour to the brave, and on this occasion 
she had arranged that M. Tod should be sold out 
of that particular evening paper. So Macgregor 
saved his money as well as his self-respect. 

On the morrow M. Tod, who still clung to the 
belief that the young man wrote for the papers, 
reported the incident to her assistant. Possibly 
Christina could have given a better reason than 
this for her subsequent uncertainty of temper, and 
doubtless it was mere absent-mindedness that 
accounted for her leaving the sliding panel to the 
window a few inches open after she had thrown 
it wide without any apparent purpose. And it is 
highly probable that Macgregor would have taken 
advantage of the aperture had he not been again 
working overtime on that and on the two following 
nights. 


Courtin* Christina 103 

So it was not until Saturday afternoon that they 
met once more. Macgregor held aloof from the 
shop until M. Tod appeared — of course she was 
later than usual ! — and, after an anxious gaze at 
the sky, proceeded to toddle up the street. Then 
he approached the window. He was feeling fairly 
hopeful. His increased allowance had come as a 
pleasant surprise. Moreover, he had saved during 
the week fourpence in car-money and had spent 
nothing. He had fifteenpence in his pocket — 
wealth ! 

As he halted at the window, the panel at the 
back was drawn tight with an audible snap. For 
a moment he felt snubbed ; then he assured himself 
there was nothing extraordinary in the occurrence, 
and prepared to enter the shop, reminding himself, 
firstly, that he was going to purchase a penholder, 
secondly, that he was not going to lose his head 
when the bell banged. 

Christina was perched at the desk writing with 
much diligence. She laid down a pencil and 
slipped from her stool promptly but without haste. 

Good-afternoon, Mr. Robinson,” she said 
demurely. 

If anyone else in the world had called him 
“ Mister Robinson ” he would have resented it as 
chaff, but now, though taken aback, he felt no 
annoyance. 


104 


Courtin' Christina 


** Ay, it’s a fine day,” he returned, rather irrele- 
vantly, and suddenly held out his hand. 

This was a little more than Christina had ex- 
pected, but she gave him hers with the least possible 
hesitation. For once in her life, however, she was 
not ready with a remark. 

Macgregor having got her hand, let it go im- 
mediately, as though he were doubtful as to the 
propriety of what he had done. 

‘‘ I’ve been workin’ late every day this week 
excep’ Tuesday,” he said. 

For an instant Christina looked pleased ; then she 
calmly murmured : ‘‘ Oh, indeed.” 

“ Ay, every day excep’ Tuesday, till nine 
o’clock,” he informed her, with an effort. 

Really!” 

He struggled against a curious feeling of mental 
suffocation, and said : I was in here on Tuesday 

nicht. I — I didna see ye.” 

“ I attend a shorthand class on Tuesday nights.” 

Oh ! ” He wanted very much to make her 
smile, so he said : “ When I didna see ye on Tues- 

day, I was afraid ye had got the sack.” 

Christina drew herself up. “ What can I do for 
you to-day, Mr. Robinson ? ” she enquired with 
stiff politeness. 

“ I was jist jokin’,” he cried, dismayed; “ I didna 
mean to offend ye.” 


Courtin' Christina 105 

Christina’s fingers played a soundless tune on the 
edge of the counter; her eyes gazed over his head 
into space. She waited with an air of weary 
patience. 

I was wantin’ a pen — a penholder,” he said at 
last, in a hopeless tone of voice. 

“Ha’penny or penny?” she asked without 
moving. 

“ A penny yin, please,” he said humbly. 

She turned and twitched a card from its nail, 
and laid it before him. “ Kindly take your 
choice,” she said, and moved up the counter a yard 
or so. She picked up a novelette and opened it. 

Macgregor examined and fingered the penholders 
for nearly a minute by the clock ere he glanced at 
her. She appeared to be engrossed in the novelette, 
but he was sure he had hurt her feelings. 

“ I was jist jokin’,” he muttered. 

“ Oh, you wanted a ha’penny one.” She 
twitched down another card of penholders, laid it 
before him as if — so it seemed to him — he had 
been dirt, and went back to her novelette. 

Had he been less in love he would surely have 
been angry then. Had she seen his look she would 
certainly have been sorry. 

There was a long silence while his gaze wandered, 
while he wondered what he could do to make 
amends. 


io6 


Courtin' Christina 


And lo! the ugly inkpot caught his eye. He 
read the accompanying card several times ; he 
fingered the money in his pocket; he told himself 
insistently that ninepence was not worth consider- 
ing. Once more he glanced at the girl. She was 
frowning slightly over the page. Perhaps she 
wanted him to go. 

‘‘ ril buy that, if ye like,” he said, pointing at 
the inkpot. 

“Eh?” cried Christina, and dropped the 
novelette. “ Beg your pardon,” she went on, 
recovering her dignity and moving leisurely 
towards him, “ but I did not quite catch what you 
observed.” She was pleased that she had used the 
word “ observed.” 

“ I’ll buy that,” repeated Macgregor. “ What’s 
it for? ” 

“ It’s for keeping ink in. It’s an inkpot. The 
price is ninepence.” 

“ I can read,” said Macgregor, with perhaps his 
first essay in irony. 

Christina tilted her chin. “ I presume you want 
it for a gift,” she said haughtily. 

“ Na ; I’m gaun to pay for it.” 

“ I meant to give away as a gift.” It was rather 
a stupid sentence, she felt. If she had only re- 
membered to use the word “ bestow.” 

The boy’s clear eyes met hers for a second. 


Courtin' Christina 


107 


It holds a great deal of ink/’ she said, possibly 
in reply to her conscience. 

‘‘ I’ll buy a bottle o’ ink, too, if ye like,” he said 
recklessly, and looked at her again. 

A flood of honest kindliness swamped the busi- 
ness instinct of Christina. “ I didna mean that ! ” 
she exclaimed, flopping into homely speech ; “ an’ 
I wudna sell ye that rotten inkpot for a hundred 
pound ! ” 

It will be admitted that Macgregor’s amaze- 
ment was natural in the circumstances. Ere he 
recovered from it she was in fair control of 
herself. 

“ It’s as good as sold to the Rev. Mr. McTavish,” 
she explained. Her sole foundation for the state- 
ment lay in the fact that the Rev. Mr. McTavish 
was to call for a small parcel of stationery about 
six o’clock. At the same time she remembered 
her duty to her employer. But we have other 
inkpots in profusion,” she declared. 

The limit of his endurance was reached. ‘‘ Oh,” 
he stammered, “ I wish ye wudna speak to me like 
that.” 

‘‘Like what?” 

“That fancy way — that genteel English.” 

The words might have angered her, but not the 
voice. She drew a quick breath and said : 

“ Are ye a frien’ or a customer ? ” 


io8 


Courtin' Christina 


Ye — ye ken fine what I want to be,” he 
answered, sadly. 

Now she was sure that she liked him. 

“ Well,” she said, slowly, suppose ye buy a 
ha’penny penholder — jist for the sake o’ appear- 
ances — an’ then ” — quickly — “ we’ll drop busi- 
ness.” And she refused to sell him a penny one, 
and, indeed, anything else in the shop that 
afternoon. 

It must be recorded, however, that an hour or 
so later she induced the Rev. Mr. McTavish to 
buy the ugly inkpot. 

‘‘ It wasna easy,” she confessed afterwards to 
M. Tod, ‘‘ an’ I doobt he jist bought it to please 
me; but it’s awa’ at last, an’ ye’ll never see it 
again — unless, maybe, at a jumble sale. He was 
real nice aboot it, an’ gaed awa’ smilin’.” 

I hope ye didna deceive the man,” said M. 
Tod, trying not to look gratified. 

“ I told him the solemn truth. I told him it was 
on ma conscience to sell the inkpot afore anither 
day had dawned. It’s no’ every day it pays ye to 
tell the truth, is it?” The last sentence was 
happily inaudible to the old woman. 

But, lassie, I never intended ye to feel ye had 
ta’en a vow to sell the inkpot. I wud be unco 
vexed to think ” 

Christina gave her employer’s shoulder a little 


C our tin* Christina 


109 


kindly, reassuring pat. ‘‘ Na, na; ye needna fash 
yerser aboot that,’’ she said. Then, moving 
away: “As a matter o’ fac’, I had compromised 
myself regardin’ the inkpot in — in anither 
direction.” 

Which was all Greek to M. Tod. 


CHAPTER NINE 


For a fortnight it ran smoothly enough. There 
were, to be sure, occasional ripples; little doubts, 
little fears, little jealousies; but they passed as 
swiftly as they appeared. 

Macgregor, having no overtime those weeks, 
contrived to visit the shop nightly, excepting Tues- 
days and Thursdays, Christina’s class nights. He 
paid his footing, so to speak, with the purchase of 
a ha’penny evening paper — which he could not 
well take home since his father was in the habit of 
making a similar purchase on the way from work. 
M. Tod was rarely in evidence; the evenings found 
her tired, and unless several customers demanded 
attention at once (a rare event) she remained in 
the living-room, browsing on novelettes selected 
for her by her assistant. She was given to protest- 
ing she had never done such a thing prior to 
Christina’s advent, to which Christina was wont to 
reply that, while she herself was long since “ fed 
up ” with such literature, it was high time M. Tod 
should know something about it. Only once did 
the old woman intrude on the young people and 
no 


Court in* Christina 


III 


prevent intimate converse ; but even then Mac- 
gregor did not depart unhappy, for Christina’s 
farewell smile was reassuring in its whimsicality, 
and in young love of all 'things seeing is believing. 

It must not be supposed, all the same, that she 
gave him much direct encouragement; her lapses 
from absolute discretion were brief as they were 
rare. But the affections of the youthful male have 
a wonderful way of subsisting on crumbs which 
hope magnifies into loaves. Nevertheless, her 
kindliness was a definite thing, and under its in- 
fluence the boy lost some of his shyness and gained 
a little confidence in himself. He had already taken 
a leap over one barrier of formality: he had called 
her “ Christina ” to her face, and neither her face 
nor her lips had reproved him; he had asked her 
to call him ‘‘ Macgreegor ” — or ‘‘ Mac ” if she 
preferred it, and she had promised to “ see about 
it.” 

On this November Saturday afternoon he was on 
his way to make the tremendous request that she 
should allow him to walk home with her when her 
day’s work was over. He was far from sure of 
himself. In the reign of Jessie Mary — what an 
old story now ! — he would not have openly craved 
permission, but would have hung about on the 
chance of meeting her alone and in pleasant 
humour. But he could not act so with Christina, 


1 12 


Courtin' Christina 


Instinct as well as inclination prevented him. 
Moreover, he had been witness, on a certain even- 
ing when he had lingered near the shop — just to 
see her with her hat on — of the fate that befell a 
young man (a regular customer, too, Christina 
told him afterwards) who dared to proffer his 
escort off-hand. Christina had simply halted, 
turned and pointed, as one might point for a dog’s 
guidance, and after a long moment the young man 
had gone in the direction opposite to that in which 
he had intended. To Macgregor the little scene 
had been gratifying yet disturbing. The memory 
of it chilled his courage now. But he was not the 
boy to relinquish a desire simply because he was 
afraid. 

He broke his journey at a sweet-shop, and 
rather surprised himself by spending sixpence, 
although he had been planning to do so for the 
past week. He had not yet given Christina any- 
thing; he wanted badly to give her something; and 
having bought it, he wondered whether she would 
take it. He could not hope that the gift would 
affect the answer to his tremendous request. 

Coming out of the sweet-shop he caught sight of 
the back of Willie Thomson, whom he had not 
seen for two weeks. Involuntarily he gave the 
boyish whistle, not so long ago the summons that 


Courtin' Christina 


113 

would have called the one to the other with express 
speed. Now it had the reverse effect, for Willie 
started, half turned, and then walked quickly up a 
convenient side-street. The flight was obvious, 
and for a moment Macgregor was hurt and angry. 
Then with sudden sympathy he grinned, thinking, 
‘‘ He’ll be after Jessie Mary, an’ doesna want me.” 
He was becoming quite grateful to Willie, for 
although he had encountered Jessie Mary several 
times of late, she had not reminded him of the 
approaching dance, and he gave Willie credit for 
that. 

A few minutes later Macgregor stood at the 
counter that had become a veritable altar. Not 
many of us manage to greet the girls of our 
dreams precisely as we would or exactly as we have 
rehearsed the operation, and Macgregor’s nerves 
at the last moment played him a trick. 

In a cocky fashion, neither natural nor becom- 
ing, he wagged his head in the direction of the 
living-room and flippantly enquired : “ Is she 

oot ? ” 

To which Christina, her smile of welcome 
passing with never a flicker, stiffly replied : “ Miss 

Tod is out, but may return at any moment.” 

‘‘ Aw ! ” he murmured, ‘‘ I thought she wud 
maybe be takin’ her usual walk.” 


Courtin* Christina 


1 14 


“ What usual walk ? 

His hurt look said: ‘‘What have I done to 
deserve this, Christina ? 

And she felt as though she had struck him. 
“Ye shouldna tak’ things for granted,’’ she said, 
less sharply. “ I didna think ye was yin o’ the 
cheeky sort.” 

“Me!” he cried in consternation. 

“ Weel, maybe ye didna mean it, but ye cam’ 
into the shop like a dog wi’ twa tails. But ” — as 
with a sudden inspiration — “ maybe ye’ve been 
gettin’ a rise in yer wages. If that’s the case, I’ll 
apologise.” 

He shook his head. “ I dinna ken what ye’re 
drivin’ at. I — I was jist gled to see ye ” 

“ Oh, we’ll no’ say ony mair aboot it. Maybe I 
was ower smart,” she said hastily. “ Kindly 
forget ma observations.” She smiled apolo- 
getically. 

“Are ye no’ gaun to shake ban’s wi’ me?” he 
asked, still uneasy. 

“ Surely ! ” she answered warmly. “ An’ I’ve 
got a bit o’ news for ye, Mac.” The name slipped 
out; she reddened. 

Yet her cheek was pale compared with the boy’s. 
“ Oh ! ” he exclaimed under his breath. Then 
with a brave attempt at carelessness he brought 
from his pocket a small white package and laid it 


Courtin' Christina 


115 

on the counter before her. “ It — it^s for you,” 
he said, forgetting his little speech about wanting 
to give her something and hoping she would not be 
offended. 

Christina was not prepared for such a happen- 
ing; still, her wits did not desert her. She liked 
sweets, but on no account was she going to have 
her acceptance of the gift misconstrued. She 
glanced at Macgregor, whose eyes did not meet 
hers; she glanced at the package; she glanced once 
more at Macgregor, and gently uttered the solitary 
word : 

‘‘ Platonic? ” 

Na,” he replied. “ Jujubes.” 

Christina bit her lip. 

“ D’ye no’ like them ? ” he asked anxiously. 

The matter had got beyond her. She put out 
her hand and took the gift, saying: ‘‘Thank ye, 
Mac; they’re ma favourite sweeties. But — ye’re 
no’ to dae it again.” 

“ What kin’ o’ sweeties did ye think they was ? ” 
he asked, breaking a short silence. 

“ Oh, it’s o’ nae consequence,” she lightly replied. 
“ D’ye no’ want to hear ma bit o’ news ? ” 

“ ’Deed, ay, Christina.” Now more at ease, he 
settled himself on the chair by the counter. 

“ Weel, — ye’ll excuse me no’ samplin’ the 
jujubes the noo; it micht be awkward if a customer 


ii6 


Courtin' Christina 


was cornin’ — weel, yer Uncle Purdie was visit- 
in’ ma uncle last night, an’ what d’ye think I 
did?” 

“ What?” 

‘‘ I asked him for a job ! ” 

“ A job I ” exclaimed Macgregor. “ In — in yin 
o’ his shops ? ” 

“ Na; in his chief office.” 

** My! ye’ve a neck — I mean, ye’re no’ afraid.” 

“Ye dinna get muckle in this world wi’oot askin’ 
for it.” 

“What did he say?” the boy enquired, after a 
pause. 

“ He said the job was mine as sune as I was 
ready to tak’ it. Ye see, I tell’t him I didna want 
to start till I had ma shorthand an’ typewritin’ 
perfec’. That’ll tak’ me a few months yet.” 

“ I didna ken ye could typewrite.” 

“Oh, I’ve been workin’ at it for near a year, 
but I can only get practisin’ afore breakfast an’ 
whiles in the evenin’. Still, I think I’ll be ready 
for the office aboot the spring, if no’ earlier.” 

Macgregor regarded her with sorrow mingled 
with admiration. “ But what way dae ye want to 
leave here?” he cried, all at once realising what 
the change would mean to him. 

“ There’s nae prospects in a wee place like this. 
Once I’m in a big place, like yer uncle’s. I’ll get 


Courtin' Christina 


117 


chances. I want to be yer uncle’s private 
secretary 

“ Ye’re ower young.” 

“ I didna say in six months.’* Her voice 
changed. ‘'Are ye no’ pleased, Mac?” 

“ Hoo can I be pleased when ye’re leavin’ here ? 
Can ye no’ stop? Ye’re fine where ye are. An’ 
what’ll Miss Tod dae wantin’ ye? ” 

“ I’ll get uncle to find her another girl — a 
pretty girl, so that ye’ll come here for yer 
stationery, eh ? ” 

“If ye leave. I’ll never come here again. 
Could ye no’ get a job behind the counter in yin of 
ma uncle’s shops ? ” — clutching at a straw. 

“ I’ll gang furder in the office. If I was a man 
I daresay I wud try the shop. If I was you, Mac, 
I wud try it.” 

“ I couldna sell folk things.” 

“ In a big business like yer uncle’s there’s 
plenty work besides sellin’. But I suppose ye’ll 
stick to the pentin’.” 

“ Ay,” he said shortly. 

“ Weel, I suppose it’s nane o’ ma business,” she 
said good-humouredly. “ But, bein’ a frien’, I 
thought ye wud ha’e been pleased to hear ma 
news.” 

Ere he could reply a woman came in to purchase 
note-paper. Possibly Christina’s service was a 


ii8 


Courtin' Christina 


trifle less “ finished ” than usual ; and she made no 
attempt to sell anything that was not wanted. 
Macgregor had a few minutes for reflection, and 
when the customer had gone he said, a shade 
more hopefully: 

Ye’ll no’ be kep’ as late at the office as here. 
Ye’ll ha’e yer evenin’s free, Christina.” 

‘‘ I’ll ha’e mair time for classes. I’m keen on 
learnin’ French an’ German. I ken a bit o’ French 
already; a frien’ o’ ma uncle’s, a Frenchman, has 
been gi’ein’ me lessons in conversation every Sun- 
day night for a while back. It’ll be useful if I 
become a secretary.” 

‘‘ Strikes me,” said Macgregor, gloomily, ‘‘ ye’ve 
never ony time for fun.” 

‘‘Fun?” 

“ For walkin’ aboot an’ — an’ that.” 

“ Oh, ye mean oot there.” She swung her hand 
in the direction of the street. “ I walk here in the 
mornin’ — near a mile — an’ hame at night ; an’ 
I’ve two hours free in the middle o’ the day — 
uncle bargained for that when he let me come to 
Miss Tod. As for loafin’ aboot on the street, I 
had plenty o’ the street when I was young, afore 
ma aunt took me to bide wi’ her at Kilmabeg. 
The street was aboot the only place I had then, an’ 
I suppose I wud be there yet if ma aunt hadna 
saved me. D’ye ken, Mac,” she went on almost 


C ourtin' C hristina 


119 


passionately, it’s no’ five years since I wanted a 
decent pair o’ shoes an’ a guid square meal. . . . 
Oh, I could tell ye things — but anither time, 
maybe. As for spendin’ a’ yer spare time on the 
street, when ye’ve ony other place to spend it, it’s 

— weel, I suppose it’s a matter o’ taste; but if I 
can dae onything wi’ ma spare time that’ll mak’ 
me independent later on. I’m gaun to dae it. 
That’s flat ! ” Suddenly she laughed. “ Are ye 
afraid o’ me, Mac?” 

No’ likely ! ” he replied, with rather feeble 
indignation. ‘‘ But whiles ye’re awfu’ — queer.” 

At that she laughed again. But I’m no’ so 
badly off for fun, as ye call it, either,” she resumed 
presently. “ Noo an’ then uncle tak’s auntie an’ 
me to the theatre. Every holiday we gang to the 
coast. An’ there’s always folk cornin’ to the 
hoose ” 

^^Auld folk?” 

Frae your age upwards. An’ next year, when 
I put up ma hair, I’ll be gettin’ to dances. Can ye 
waltz ? ” 

Macgregor gave his head a dismal shake. ‘‘I 

— I doobt ye’re ower high-class,” he muttered 
hopelessly. “Ye’ll no’ be for lookin’ at me next 
year.” 

“No’ if ye wear a face like a fiddle. I like to 
look at cheery things. What’s up wi’ ye?” 


120 Court in* Christina 


“ Oh, naething. I suppose ye expec’ to be 
terrible rich some day.” 

“ That’s the idea.” 

“What’ll ye dae wi’ the money? I suppose ye 
dinna ken.” 

“ Oh, I ken fine,” she returned, with an eager 
smile. “ I’ll buy auntie a lovely cottage at the 
coast, an’ uncle a splendid motor car, an’ masel’ a 
big white steam yacht.” 

“ Ye’re no’ greedy,” he remarked a little sulkily. 

“ That’ll be merely for a start, of course. I’ll 
tak’ ye a trip roun’ the world for the price o’ a 
coat o’ pent to the yacht. Are ye on? Maybe 
ye’ll be a master-penter by then.” 

“I — I’ll never be onything — an’ I’m no’ 
carin’,” he groaned. 

“If ye lie doon in the road ye’ll no’ win far, an’ 
ye’re likely to get tramped on, forbye. What’s 
wrang wi’ ye the day ? ” she asked kindly. 

“Ye — ye jist mak’ me miserable,” he blurted 
out, and hung his head. 

“ Me ! ” she said innocently. “ I’m sure I never 
meant to dae that. I’m a hard nut, I suppose ; but 
no’ jist as hard as I seem. Onything I can dae to 
mak’ ye happy again?” 

The door opened, the bell banged, and a man 
came in and bought a weekly paper. 

“Weel?” said Christina when they were alone. 


Court in* Christina 


121 


“ Let me walk hame wi’ ye the nicht,” said 
Macgregor, who ought to have felt grateful to the 
chance customer whose brief stay had permitted 
him to get his wits and words together. 

“ Oh ! ” said Christina. 

“ ril wait for ye as long as ye like.’* 

Some seconds passed ere Christina spoke. “ Fm 
not in the habit of being escorted ” she began. 

‘‘ For ony sake dinna speak like that.” 

“ I forgot ye wasna a customer. But, seriously, 
I dinna think it wud be the thing.” 

“ What way, Christina ? ” 

“ Jist because, an’ for several other reasons 
besides. My! it’s gettin’ dark. Time I was 
lightin’ up.” She struck a match, applied it to a 
long taper, and proceeded to ignite the jets in the 
window and above the counter. Then she turned 
to him again. 

‘‘ Mac.” 

Something in her voice roused him out of his 
despair. ‘‘ What, Christina ? ” 

“If ye walk hame wi’ me, I’ll expect ye to come 
up an’ see ma aunt an’ uncle. Ye see, I made a 
sort o’ bargain wi’ them that I wudna ha’e ony 
frien’s that they didna ken aboot.” 

Macgregor’s expression of happiness gave place 
to one of doubt. “ Maybe they wudna like me,” 
he said. 


122 


Courtin' Christina 


“ Aweel, that’s your risk, of course. But they’ll 
no’ bite ye. I leave the shop at eight.” She 
glanced at her little silver watch. ‘‘ Mercy ! 
It’s time I was puttin’ on the kettle. Miss Tod’ll 
be back in a jiffy. Ye best gang, Mac.” 

I’ll be waitin’ for ye at eight,” he said, rising. 
“ An’ it’s awfu’ guid o’ ye, Christina, though I 

wish ye hadna made that bargain ” 

Weel, I like to be as honest as I can — ootside 
o’ business. If ye dinna turn up, I’ll forgive ye. 
Noo ” 

“ Oh, I’ll turn up. It wud tak’ mair nor your 
aunt an’ uncle ” 

“ Tits, man ! ” she cried impatiently, I’ll be 
late wi’ her tea. Adieu for the present.” She 
waved her hand and fled to the living-room. 

Macgregor went home happy in a subdued 
fashion. He found a letter awaiting him. It was 
from Grandfather Purdie ; it reminded him that his 
seventeenth birthday was on the coming Monday, 
contained a few kindly words of advice, and 
enclosed a postal order for ten shillings. Hitherto 
the old man’s gift had been a half-crown, which 
had seemed a large sum to the boy. But ten 
shillings ! — it would be hard to tell whether Mac- 
gregor’s feeling of manliness or of gratitude was 
the greater. 

Mrs. Robinson was not a little disturbed when 


Courtin' Christina 


123 


her son failed to hand over the money to her to 
take care of for him, as had been the custom in 
the past, and her husband had some difficulty in 
persuading her to ‘‘ let the laddie be in the mean- 
time.” 

Macgregor had gone to his room to make the 
most elaborate toilet possible. 

‘‘ You trust him, an’ he’ll trust you,” said John. 
‘‘ Dinna be aye treatin’ him like a wean.” 

“ It’s no’ a case o’ no’ trustin’ him,” she returned 
a little sharply. “ Better treat him like a wean 
than let him think he’s a man afore his time.” 

‘‘ It’s no’ his money in the bank that tells what 
a chap’s made o’, Lizzie. Let us wait an’ see what 
he does wi’ it. Mind ye, it’s his to dae what he 
likes wi’. Wait, till the morn, an’ then I’ll back ye 
up in gettin’ him to put a guid part o’ it, onyway, 
in the bank. No’ that I think ony backin’ up’ll be 
necessary. If he doesna want to put it in the bank, 
he’ll dae it to please us. I’ll guarantee that, 
wife.” 

‘‘ If I had your heart an’ you had ma heid,” she 
said with a faint smile, ‘‘ I daresay we wud baith 
be near per fee’, John. Aweel, I’m no’ gaun to 
bother the laddie noo. But ” — seriously — “ he’s 
been oot an awfu’ lot at nicht the last week or twa.” 

“ Courtin’,” said John, laughing. 

“ Havers ! ” she retorted. “ He’s no’ the sort.” 


124 


Courtin' Christina 


Neither was I/’ said John, “ an’ look at me 
noo!” 

And there they let the subject drop. 

At seven o’clock Macgregor left the house. At 
the nearest post-office he had his order converted 
into coin. In one of his pockets he placed a couple 
of shillings — for Jeannie and Jimsie. He had no 
definite plans regarding the balance, but he hoped 
his mother would not ask for it. Somehow its 
possession rendered the prospect of his meeting 
with the Baldwins a thought less fearsome. He 
would tell Christina of his grandfather’s gift, and 
later on, perhaps, he would buy — he knew not 
what. All at once he wished he had a great deal 
of money — wished he were clever — wished he 
could talk like Christina, even in the manner he 
hated — wished vague but beautiful things. The 
secret aspirations of lad’s love must surely make 
the angels smile — very tenderly. 

He reached the trysting place with a quick heart, 
a moist brow, and five and twenty minutes to spare. 


CHAPTER TEN 


From five to seven o’clock on Saturdays M. Tod 
and her assistant did a fairly brisk trade in news- 
papers; thereafter, as Christina often thought, but 
refrained from saying, it was scarcely worth while 
keeping the shop open: A stray customer or two 
was all that might be expected during the last hour, 
and Christina was wont to occupy herself and it by 
tidying up for Sunday, while M. Tod from the 
sitting-room bleated her conviction, based on 
nothing but a fair imagination and a bad memory, 
that the Saturday night business was not what it 
had been twenty years ago. The old woman 
invariably got depressed at the end of the week; 
she had come to grudge the girl’s absence even for 
a day. 

Christina was counting up some unsold 
periodicals, chattering cheerfully the while on the 
ethics of modern light literature. The door 
opened with a suddenness that suggested a pounce, 
and a young woman, whom Christina could not 
recollect having seen before, started visibly at the 
125 


126 


C our tin' C Kristina 


bang of the bell, recovered herself, and closed the 
door carefully. It was Christina’s habit to sum 
up roughly the more patent characteristics of new 
customers almost before they reached the counter. 
In the present case her estimate was as follows: 
“ Handsome for the money ; conceited, but not 
proud.” 

“ Good-evening,” she said politely. 

“ Evenin’,” replied the other, her dark eyes 
making a swift survey of the shop. She threw 
open her jacket, already unbuttoned, disclosing a 
fresh white shirt, a scarlet bow and a silver belt. 
Touching the belt, she said : “ I think this was got 
in your shop.” 

Christina bent forward a little way. “ Per- 
haps,” she said pleasantly. I couldn’t say for 
certain. We’ve sold several of these belts, but of 
course we haven’t the monopoly.” 

It may have been that the young woman fancied 
she was being chaffed. Other customers less un- 
familiar with Christina had fancied the same thing. 
At all events her tone sharpened. 

‘‘ But I happen to ken it was got here.” 

“ Then it mas got here,” said Christina equably. 
‘‘ Do you wish to buy another the same ? I’m 
sorry we’re out of them at present, but we could 
procure one for you within ” 

“ No, thanks. An’ I didna buy this one, either. 


Courtin' Christina 


i2y 

It was bought by a young gentleman friend of 
mines/’ 

‘‘ Oh, indeed ! ” Christina murmured sympathet- 
ically. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. 

“ I came to see if you could change it,” the 
young woman proceeded. “ It’s miles too wide. 
Ye can see that for yersel’.” 

They are worn that way at present,” said 
Christina, with something of an effort. 

“ Maybe. But I prefer it tight-fittin’. Of 
course I admit I’ve an extra sma’ waist.” 

‘‘Yes — smaller than they are worn at present.” 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” 

“ Granted,” said Christina absently. She was 
trying to think of more than one male customer to 
whom she had sold a belt. But there had been 
only one. 

The dark eyes of the young woman glimmered 
with malignant relish. 

“ As I was sayin’,” she said, “ I prefer it tight- 
fittin’. I’ve a dance on next week, an’ as it is the 
belt is unsuitable, an’ the young man expec’s me to 
wear it. Of course I couldna tell him that it 
didna fit me. So I thought I would jist ask ye to 
change it wi’oot lettin’ on to him.” She gave a 
self-conscious giggle. 

“ I see,” said Christina, dully. “ But I’m afraid 
there’s only the one size in those belts, and, besides. 


128 


Court in Christina 


we can’t change goods that have been worn for a 
month.” 

“ Oh, so ye mind when ye sold it ! ” said the 
other maliciously. ‘‘Ye’ve a fine memory, Miss! 
But though I’ve had it for a month — it was part 
o’ his birthday present, ye ken — I’ve scarcely 
worn it — only once or twice, to please him.” 

There was a short silence ere Christina spoke. 
“If you are bent on getting the belt made tight- 
fitting, a jeweller would do it for you, but it would 
cost as much as the belt is worth,” she said coldly. 
“ It’s a very cheap imitation, you know,” she added, 
for the first time in her business career decrying her 
own wares. 

It was certainly a nasty one, but the young 
woman almost succeeded in appearing to ignore it. 

“ So ye canna change it — even to please ma 
young man ? ” she said mockingly. 

“J^Io,” Christina replied, keeping her face to the 
foe, but with difficulty. 

Said the foe : “ That’s a pity, but I daresay I’ll 
get over it.” She moved to the door and opened 
it. She smiled, showing her teeth. (Christina 
was glad to see they were not quite perfect.) “ A 
sma’ waist like mines is whiles a misfortune,” she 
remarked, with affected self-commiseration. 

Christina set her lips, but the retort would come. 


Courtin' Christina 


129 


“ Ay,” she said viciously ; “ still, I suppose you 
couldn’t grow tall any other way.” 

But the young woman only laughed — she could 
afford to laugh, having done that which she had 
come to do — and departed to report the result of 
her mission to the youth known as Willie Thomson. 

“ Wha was that, dearie ? ” M. Tod called from 
the living-room. 

Christina started from an unlovely reverie. 
“ Merely a female,” she answered bitterly, and 
resumed counting the periodicals in a listless 
fashion. 

The poison bit deep. The cheek of him to sug- 
gest walking home with her when he was going to 
a dance with that tight-laced girl next week! No 
doubt he admired her skimpy waist. He was 
welcome to it and her — and her bad teeth. And 
yet he had seemed a nice chap. She had liked him 
for his shyness, if for nothing else. But the shy 
kind were always the worst. He had very likely 
been taking advantage of his shyness. Well, she 
was glad she had found him out before he could 
walk home with her. And possibly because she 
was glad, but probably because she was quite young 
at heart, tears came to her eyes. . . . 

When ten minutes had passed, M. Tod, missing 
the cheerful chatter, toddled into the shop. 


130 


Courtin' Christina 


‘‘ What's wrang, dearie ? Preserve us ! Ha’e 
ye been cry in' ? " 

“ Cryin' ! " exclaimed Christina with contempt. 
“ But I think I'm in for a shockin' cauld in ma 
heid, so ye best keep awa' frae me in case ye get 
the infection. A cauld's a serious thing at your 
time o' life." And she got the feebly protesting 
old woman back to the fireside, and left her there. 

3|c ^ 

At eight o'clock Macgregor saw the window 
lights go out and the shop lights grow dim. A 
minute later he heard an exchange of good-nights 
and the closing and bolting of a door. Then 
Christina appeared, her head a little higher even 
than usual. 

He went forward eagerly. He held out his 
hand and — it received his gift of the afternoon 
unopened. 

“ I've changed my mind. I'll bid you good- 
night — and good-bye," said Christina, and walked 
on. 

Presently he overtook her. 

“Christina, what's up?" 

“ Kindly do not address me any more." 

“ Any more ? N ever ? What way ? 

She was gone. 

He dashed the little package into the gutter and 


Courtin* Christina 


131 

strode off in the opposite direction, his face white, 
his lip quivering. 

If Maegregor seemed in the past to have needed 
a thorough rousing, he had it now. For an hour 
he tramped the streets, his heart hot within him, 
the burden of his thoughts — “ She thinks Fm no’ 
guid enough.” 

And the end of the tramp found him at the door 
of the home of Jessie Mary. For a wonder, on a 
Saturday night at that hour, she was in. She 
opened the door herself. 

At the sight of the boy something like fear fell 
upon her. For what had he come thus boldly? 

He did not keep her in suspense. “Will ye 
gang wi’ me to that dance ye was talkin’ aboot?” 
he asked abruptly, adding, “ I’ve got the money for 
the tickets.” 

A curse, a blow even, would have surprised her less. 

“ Will ye gang, Jessie?” he said impatiently. 

For the life of her she could not answer at once. 

Said he : “If it’s Wullie, ye’re thinkin’ o’. I’ll 
square him.” 

“ Wullie ! ” she exclaimed, a cruel contempt in 
the word. 

“ Weel, if naebody else is takin’ ye, will ye gang 
wi’ me? ” 

“ Dae — dae ye want me, Maegreegor ? ” 

“ I’m askin’ ye.” 


132 Courtin' Christina 

She glanced at him furtively, but he was not 
looking at her; his hands were in his pockets, his 
mouth was shaped to emit a tuneless whistle. She 
tried to laugh, but made only a throaty sound. 
It seemed as if a stranger stood before her, one of 
whom she knew nothing save his name. And yet 
she liked that stranger and wanted much to go to 
the dance with him. 

The whistling ceased. 

‘‘ Are ye gaun wi’ somebody else ? he demanded, 
lifting his face for a moment. 

It was not difficult to guess that something acute 
had happened to him very recently. Jessie Mary 
suddenly experienced a guilty pang. Yet why 
Macgregor should have come back to her now was 
beyond her comprehension. Yon yellow-haired girl 
in the shop could not have told him anything — 
that was certain. And though she had not really 
wanted him back, now that he had come she was 
fain to hold him once more. Such thoughts made 
confusion in her mind, out of which two distinct 
ideas at last emerged: she did not care if she had 
hurt the yellow-haired girl ; she could not go to the 
dance on Macgregor’s money. 

So gently, sadly, she told her lie; ‘‘Ay, there’s 
somebody else, Macgreegor.” Which suggests 
that no waist is too small to contain an appreciable 
amount of heart and conscience. 


Courtin' Christina 


133 


A brief pause, and Macgregor said drearily: 

“Aweel, it doesna matter.” I’ll awa’ hame.” 
And went languidly down the stairs. 

‘‘ It doesna matter.” The words haunted 
Jessie Mary that night, and it was days before she 
got wholly rid of the uncomfortable feeling that 
Macgregor had not really wanted her to go to the 
dance, and that he had, in fact, been “ codding ” 
her. 

Whereas, poor lad, he had only been “ codding ” 
himself, or, at least, trying to do so. By the time 
he reached the bottom step he had forgotten Jessie 
Mary. 

Once more he tramped the streets. 

At home Lizzie was showing her anxiety, and 
John was concealing his. 

When, at long last, he entered the kitchen, he 
did not appear to hear his mother’s “ Whaur ha’e 
ye been, laddie?” or his father’s ** Ye’re late, ma 
son.” Their looks of concern at his tired face and 
muddy boots passed unobserved. 

Having unlaced his boots and rid his feet of 
them more quietly than usual, he got up and went 
to the table at which his mother was sitting. 

He took all the money — all — from his pockets 
and laid it before her. 

There’s a shillin’ each for Jeannie an’ Jimsie. 


134 Courtin' Christina 


rm no’ needin’ the rest. I’m wearied,” he said, 
and went straightway to his own room. 

John got up and joined his wife at the table. 
“ Did I no’ tell ye,” he cried, triumphantly, “ that 
Macgreegor wud dae the richt thing?” 

Lizzie stared at the little heap of silver and 
bronze. 

John,” she whispered at last, and there was a 
curious distressed note in her voice, “ John, d’ye 
no’ see ? — he’s gi’ed me ower much I ” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


As a rule tonics are bitter, and their effects very 
gradual, often so gradual as to be hardly noticeable 
until one’s strength is put to some test. While it 
would be unfair to deny the existence of “ back- 
bone ” in Macgregor, it is but just to grant that the 
‘‘ backbone ” required stiffening. And it is no 
discredit to Macgregor that the tincture of Chris- 
tina’s hardier spirit which, along with her (to him) 
abundant sweetness, he had been absorbing during 
these past weeks, was the very tonic he needed, 
the tonic without which he could not have acted as 
he did on the Monday night following his dismissal. 

Of this action one may say, at first thought, that 
it was simply the outcome of an outraged pride. 
Yet Macgregor’s pride was at best a drowsy thing 
until a girl stabbed it. It forced him to Jessie 
Mary’s door, but there failed him. Throughout 
the miserable Sunday it lay inert, with only an 
occasional spasm. And though he went with it to 
the encounter on Monday, he carried it as a 
burden. His real supporters were Love and 
135 


136 


C our tin' C hristina 


Determination, and the latter was a new comrade, 
welcome, but not altogether of his own inspiring. 

He did not go to the shop, for he had neither 
money nor the petty courage necessary to ask it of 
his parents. On the pavement, a little way from 
the door, he waited in a slow drizzle of rain. He 
had no doubts as to what he was going to do and 
say. The idea had been with him all day, from 
early in the morning, and it had to be carried out. 
Perhaps his nerves were a little too steady to be 
described as normal. 

When eight o’clock struck on a neighbouring 
tower, he did not start or stir. But across the 
street, peering round the edge of a close-mouth, 
another boy jerked his head at the sound. Willie 
Thomson was exceedingly curious to know whether 
Saturday night had seen the end of the matter. 

Christina, for no reason that she could have 
given, was late in leaving the shop; it was twenty 
minutes past the hour when she appeared. 

She approached quickly, but he was ready for her. 

‘‘ No ! ” she exclaimed at the sight of him. 

He stepped right in front of her. She was com- 
pelled to halt, and she had nothing to say. 

He faced her fairly, and said — neither hotly 
nor coldly, but with a slight throb in his voice: 

“ ni be guid enough yet.” With a little nod as 


Courtin' Christina 


137 


if to emphasise his words, and without taking his 
eyes from her face, he stood aside and let her go. 

Erect, he followed her with his eyes until the 
darkness and traffic of the pavement hid her. 
Then he seemed to relax, his shoulders drooped 
slightly, and with eyes grown wistful he moved 
slowly down the street towards home. Arrived 
there he shut himself up with an old school 
dictionary. 

Dull work, but a beginning. . . . 

“ Guid enough yet.” Christina had not gone far 
when through all her resentment the full meaning 
of the words forced itself upon her. ‘‘ Oh,” she 
told herself crossly, “ I never meant him to take 
it that way.” A little later she told herself the 
same thing, but merely impatiently. And still 
later, lying in the dark, she repeated it with a sob. 

As for the watcher, Willie Thomson, he set out 
without undue haste to inform Jessie Mary that 
once more Macgregor had been left standing alone 
on the pavement. Somehow Willie was not par- 
ticularly pleased with himself this evening. Ere 
his lagging feet had borne him half way to the 
appointed place he was feeling sorry for Mac- 
gregor. All at once he decided to spy no more. 
It would be rather awkward just at present to 
intimate such a decision to Jessie Mary, but he 
could “ cod ” her, he thought, without much diffi- 


138 Courtin' Christina 

culty, by inventing reports in the future. Cheered 
by his virtuous resolutions, he quickened his pace. 

Jessie Mary received him in the close leading to 
her abode. She was in an extraordinarily bad 
temper, and cut short his report almost at the out- 
set by demanding to know when he intended 
repaying the shilling he had borrowed a fortnight 
previously. 

Next week,” mumbled Willie, with that sad 
lack of originality exhibited by nearly all harassed 
borrov»^ers. 

Whereupon Jessie Mary, who was almost; a head 
the taller, seized him by one ear and soundly cuffed 
the other until with a yelp he broke loose and fled 
into the night, never to know that he had been 
punished for that unfortunate remark of Mac- 
gregor's — '‘it doesna matter.” Yet let us not 
scoff at Jessie Mary’s sense of justice. The pos- 
sessors of greater minds than hers, having stumbled 
against a chair, have risen in their wrath and kicked 
the sofa — which is not at all to say that the sofa’s 
past has been more blameless than the chair’s. 
Life has a way of settling our accounts without 
much respect for our book-keeping. 

Jessie Mary felt none the better of her outbreak. 
She went to bed wishing angrily that she had taken 
Macgregor at his word. The prospects of obtain- 
ing an escort to the dance were now exceedingly 


Courtin' Christina 


139 


remote, for only that afternoon she had learned 
that the bandy-legged young man in the warehouse 
whom she had deemed ‘‘ safe at a pinch,’' and who 
was the owner of a dress suit with a white vest, 
had invited another girl and was actually going to 
give her flowers to wear. 

Willie went to bed, too, earlier than usual, and 
lay awake wondering, among other things, whether 
his aching ear entitled him to a little further credit 
in the matter of his debt to Jessie Mary — not that 
any length of credit would have made payment 
seem possible. For Willie was up to the neck in 
debt, owing the appalling sum of five shillings and 
ninepence to an old woman who sold newspapers, 
paraffin oil and cheap cigarettes, and who was 
already threatening to go to his aunt for her money 
— a proceeding which would certainly result in 
much misery for Willie. He was out of a job ” 
again ; but it isn’t easy to get work, more especially 
when one prefers to do nothing. To some extent 
Macgregor was to blame for his having got into 
debt with the tobacconist, for if Macgregor had not 
stopped smoking, Willie would not have needed to 
buy nearly so many cigarettes. Nevertheless, 
Willie’s thoughts did not dwell long or bitterly on 
that point. Rather did they dwell on Macgregor 
himself. And after a while Willie drew up his legs 
and pulled the insufficient bedclothes over his head 


140 Courtin' Christina 

and lay very still. This he had done since he was 
a small boy, when lonesomeness got the better of 
him, when he wished he had a father and mother 
like Macgregor's. 

And, as has been hinted, neither was Christina at 
ease that night. 

Indeed, it were almost safe to say that of the 
four young people involved in this little tragi- 
comedy, Macgregor, yawning over his old school 
dictionary, was the least unhappy. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


On the fifth night, at the seventh page of words 
beginning with a “ D,’' Macgregor closed the dic- 
tionary and asked himself what was the good of it 
all. His face was hot, his whole being restless. 
He looked at his watch — a quarter to eight. He 
got up and carefully placed the dictionary under a 
copy of “ Ivanhoe ” on the chest of drawers. He 
would go for a walk. 

He left the house quietly. 

In the kitchen Lizzie, pausing in her knitting, 
said to John : “ That’s Macgreegor awa’ oot.” 

“ It’ll dae him nae harm,” said John. He’s 
becomin’ a great reader, Lizzie.” 

“ I dinna see why he canna read ben here. It’s 
cauld in his room. What’s he readin’ ? ” 

“ The book he got frae his Uncle Purdie three 
year back.” 

“ Weel, I’m sure I’m gled if he’s takin’ an 
interest in it at last.” 

‘‘ Oh, ‘ Ivanhoe ’ ’s no’ a bad story,” remarked 
John. ‘‘ Whiles it’s fair excitin’.” 


142 


Court in* Christina 


Said Jimsie from the hearthrug: ‘‘He doesna 
seem to enjoy it much, Paw/' 

“ Weel, it's no' a funny book." 

“ It's time ye was in yer bed, Jimsie," said Mrs. 
Robinson. “ It's ower late for ye." 

“ Aw, the wean's fine," said John. 

Jeannie laid down her sewing. “ Come on, 
Jimsie, an' I’ll tell ye a wee story afore ye gang to 
sleep." 

“ Chaps ye ! " Jimsie replied, getting up. 

When the two had gone, Lizzie observed 
casually : “ It's the first nicht Macgreegor's been 

oot this week." 

“ Weel, ye should be pleased, wumman." John 
smiled. 

A pause. 

“ I wonder what made him gi’e up a' his siller on 
Seturday nicht." 

“ Same here. But I wudna ask him," said John, 
becoming grave. “ Wud you ? " 

She shook her head. “ I tried to, on Sunday, 
but some way I coudna. He's changin'." 

“ He's growin' up, Lizzie. 

“ I suppose ye're richt," she said reluctantly, and 
resumed her knitting. 

From the darkest spot he could find on the oppo- 
site pavement Macgregor saw Christina come out 


Courtin' Christina 


143 


of the shop, pass under a lamp, and disappear. He 
felt sorely depressed during the return journey. 
The dictionary had failed to increase either his 
knowledge or his self-esteem. He wondered 
whether History or Geography would do any good ; 
there were books on these subjects in the house. 
He realised that he knew nothing about anything 
except his trade, and even there he had to admit 
that he had learned less than he might have done. 
And yet he had always wanted to be a painter. 

The same night he started reading the History 
of England, and found it a considerable improve- 
ment on the Dictionary. He managed to keep 
awake until the arrival of Julius Caesar. Un- 
fortunately he had taken the book to bed, and his 
mother on discovering it in the morning indis- 
creetly asked him what he had been doing with it. 

Naething special,’’ was his reply, indistinctly 
uttered, and here ended his historical studies, 
though for days after Lizzie left the book 
prominent on the chest of drawers. 

The day being Saturday, the afternoon was his 
own. Through the rain he made his way furtively 
to a free library, but became too self-conscious at 
the door, and fled. For the sum of threepence a 
picture house gave him harbourage, and save when 
the scenes were very exciting he spent the time in 


144 


C ourtin C hristina 


trying not to wonder what Christina would think 
of him, if she thought at all. He came forth 
ashamed and in nowise cheered by the entertain- 
ment. 

In the evening he went once more to watch her 
leave the shop. M. Tod came to the door with 
her, and they stood talking for a couple of minutes, 
so that he had more than a glimpse of her. And a 
spirit arose in him demanding that he should 
attempt something to prove himself, were it only 
with his hands. It was not learning, but earning, 
that would make him ‘‘ guid enough yet ” ; not what 
he could say, but what he could do. There would 
be time enough for speaking “ genteel English ” and 
so on after — well, after he had got up in the world. 

For a moment he felt like running after Chris- 
tina and making her hearken to his new hope, but 
self-consciousness prevailed and sent him home- 
wards. 

‘‘Hullo!’’ From a close came a husky voice, 
apologetic, appealing. 

“Hullo, Wullie!” Macgregor stopped. He 
was not sorry to meet Willie ; he craved companion- 
ship just then, though he had no confidence to give. 

“ Are ye for hame ? ” 

“ Ay.” 

“I — ril come wi’ ye, if ye like, Macgreegor?” 

“ Come on then.” 


Courtin' Christina 


145 


Willie came out, and they proceeded along 
the street without remark until Macgregor en- 
quired — 

“Where are ye workin’ the noo, Wullie?” 

“ I’m no’ workin’. Canna get a job. Dae ye 
ken o’ onything? ” 

“ Na. What kin’ o’ job dae ye want? ” 

“ Onything,” said Willie, and added quickly, 
“ An’ I’ll stick to it this time, if I get the chance.” 

After a short pause “ My fayther got ye a 

job before,” said Macgregor. 

“ I ken. But I wud stick 

“ Honest?” 

Willie drew his hand across his throat. 

“ Weel,” said Macgregor, “ I’ll tell ma fayther, 
an’ ye can gang an’ see him at the works on 
Monday.” 

“ I’ll be there. Ye’re a dacent chap, Mac- 
greegor.” 

Neither seemed to have anything more to say to 
the other, but their parting was cordial enough. 

Next day, Sunday, was wet and stormy, and 
there was no afternoon stroll of father and son to 
the docks. John was flattered by Macgregor’s ill- 
concealed disappointment — it was like old times. 
Perhaps he would not have been less flattered had 
he known his boy’s desire to tell him out of doors 
a thing that somehow could not be uttered in the 


146 Courtin' Christina 


house. Macgregor spent the afternoon in study- 
ing secretly an old price-list of Purdie^s Stores. 

The following night, while returning from the 
errand of previous nights, he again encountered 
Willie. 

So may fayther’s gaun to gi’e ye a job. He 
teirt me it was fixed.’^ 

“ Ay,’’ said Willie, ‘‘ but he canna tak’ me on for 
a fortnicht.” 

“ Weel, that’s no lang to wait.” 

For a few seconds Willie was mute; then he 
blurted out — “ Fm done for! ” 

Done for ! ” exclaimed Macgregor, startled by 
the despair in the other’s voice. ‘‘ What’s wrang, 
Wullie?” 

Fm in a mess. But it’s nae use tellin’ ye. Ye 
canna dae onything.” 

‘‘ Is’t horses ? ” Macgregor asked presently. 

Naw, it’s no’ horses I ” Willie indignantly 
replied. 

How virtuous we feel when accused of the one 
sin we have not committed! 

The next moment he clutched Macgregor’s arm. 

Come in here, an’ Fll tell ye.” He drew his com- 
panion into a close. ‘‘ I — I couldna tell onybody 
else.” 

From the somewhat incoherent recital which 
followed Macgregor finally gathered that the old 


Courtin* Christina 


147 


woman to whom Willie owed money had presented 
her ultimatum. If Willie failed to pay up that 
night she would assuredly not fail to apply to his 
aunt first thing in the morning. 

‘‘ Never heed, Wullie,'' said Macgregor, taking 
his friend’s arm, and leading him homewards. 
“ Yer aunt’ll no’ kill ye.” 

‘‘ I wish to she wud ! ” muttered Willie with 

a vehemence that shocked his friend. “ She’s aye 
been ill to live wi’, but it’ll be a sight harder noo.” 

“ Wud the auld wife no’ believe ye aboot gettin’ 
a job in a fortnicht? She wudna? Aweell, she’ll 
believe me. Come on, an’ I’ll speak to her for ye.” 

But the ‘‘ auld wife ” was adamant. She had 
been deceived with too many promises ere now. 
At last Macgregor, feeling himself beaten, discon- 
solately joined Willie and set out for home. 
Neither spoke until Macgregor’s abode was reached. 
Then Macgregor said: 

“Bide here till I come back,” and ran up the 
stair. He knew his father was out, having gone 
back to the works to experiment with some new 
machinery. He found his mother alone in the 
kitchen. 

“ Mither,” he said with difficulty, “ I wish ye 
wud gi’e me five shillin’s o’ ma money.” 

He could not have startled her more thoroughly. 

“ Five shillin’s, laddie ! What for ? ” 


148 


Courtin' Christina 


I canna tell ye the noo/' 

« But ” 

‘‘ It's no' for — for fun. If ye ask me, I'll tell 
ye in a secret this day fortnicht. Please, mither." 

She got up and laid her hands on his shoulder 
and turned him to the full light of the gas. He 
looked at her shyly, yet without flinching. And 
abruptly she kissed him, and as abruptly passed to 
the dresser drawer where she kept her purse. 

Without a word she put the money in his hand. 
Without a word he took it, nodded gravely, and 
went out. In one way Lizzie had done more for 
her boy in these three minutes than she had done 
in the last three years. 

Macgregor had a sixpence in his pocket, and he 
added it to the larger coins. 

She can wait for her thruppence," he said, 
giving the money to the astounded Willie. “ Awa' 
an' pay her. I’ll maybe see ye the morn's nicht. 
So long ! " He walked off in the direction oppo- 
site to that which Willie ought to take. 

But Willie ran after him; he was pretty nearly 
crying. “ Macgreegor," he stammered, “ I’ll pay 
ye back when I get ma first wages. An' I'll no' 
forget — oh, I’ll never forget. An' I’ll dae ye a 
guid turn yet ! ” 

‘‘Ye best hurry in case she shuts her shop," 
said Macgregor, and so got rid of him. 


Courtin' Christina 


149 


While it is disappointing to record that Willie 
has thus far never managed to repay Macgregor 
in hard cash, though he has somehow succeeded in 
retaining the employment found for him by John, 
it is comforting to know that his promise to do 
Macgregor a good turn was more than just an 
emotional utterance. When, on the following 
Wednesday and Friday nights, he stealthily tracked 
Macgregor to the now familiar watching place, his 
motives were no longer curious or selfish, but 
benevolent in the extreme. Not that he could 
bring himself to sympathise with Macgregor in the 
latter’s devotion to a mere girl, for, as a matter of 
fact, he regarded his friend’s behaviour as awfu’ 
stupid ” ; but if Macgregor was really ‘‘ saft ” on 
the girl, it behoved him, Willie, to do what he 
could to put an end to the existing misunder- 
standing. 

On the Friday night he came regretfully to the 
conclusion that the “ saftness ” was incurable, and 
he accordingly determined to act on the following 
afternoon. By this time his knowledge of the 
movements of M. Tod and her assistant was prac- 
tically as complete as Macgregor’s, so that he had 
no hesitation in choosing the hour for action. He 
had little fear of Macgregor’s coming near the 
shop in daylight. 

So, having witnessed the exit of M. Tod, he 


ISO Courtin' Christina 

crossed the street, and examined the contents of 
the window, as he had seen Macgregor do so 
often. He was not in the least nervous. The fact 
that he was without money did not perturb him: 
it would be the simplest thing in the world to in- 
troduce himself and his business by asking for an 
article which stationers’ shops did not supply. A 
glance at a druggist’s window had given him the 
necessary suggestion. 

On entering he was seized with a most dis- 
tressing cough, which racked him while he closed 
the door and until he reached the counter. 

“A cold afternoon,” Christina remarked in a 
sympathetic tone. 

** Ay. Ha’e ye ony chest protectors ? ” he 
hoarsely enquired. 

For the fraction of a second only she hesitated. 
“ Not exactly,” she replied. “ But I can recom- 
mend this.” From under the counter she brought 
a quire of brown paper. “ It’s cheaper than flannel 
and much more sanitary,” she went on. ‘‘ There’s 
nothing like it for keeping out the cold. You’ve 
only got to cut out the shape that suits you.” 
She separated a sheet from the quire and spread 
it on the counter. Enough there for a dozen 
protectors. Price one penny. I’ll cut them out 
for you, if you like.” 

“The doctor said I was to get a flannel yin,” 


Courtin' Christina 


151 

said Willie, forgetting his hoarseness. “ Ha’e ye 
ony nice ceegarettes the day, miss ? ” 

‘‘ No.’’ 

“ Will ye ha’e ony on Monday? ” 

“ No.” 

‘‘When d’ye think ye’ll ha’e some nice ceega- 
rettes? ” 

Christina’s eyes smiled. “ Perhaps,” she said 
solemnly, “ by the time you’re big enough to 
smoke them. Anything else to-day ? ” 

“ Ye’re no’ sae green,” he said, with grudging 
admiration. 

“ No,” said she ; “ it’s only the reflection.” She 
opened the glass case and took out an infant’s 
rattle. “ Threepence ! ” 

Willie laughed. “ My ! ye’re a comic 1 ” he 
exclaimed. 

“Children are easily amused.” 

There was a short pause. Then Willie, leaning 
his arms on the edge of the counter, looked up in 
her face and said : 

“ So you’re the girl that’s mashed on Macgreegor 
Robi’son.” He grinned. 

A breath of silence — a sounding smack. 

Willie sprang back, his hand to his cheek. 
Christina, cheeks flaming, eyes glistening, teeth 
gleaming, hands clenched, drew herself up and faced 
him. 


152 


Courtin' Christina 


'' Get oot o' this 1 ” she cried. “ D’ye hear me ! 
Get oot ” 

‘‘ Ay, I hear ye,” said Willie resentfully, rub- 
bing his cheek. Ye’re ower smart wi’ yer ban’s. 

I meant for to say ” 

‘‘Be quiet!” 

“ — you’re the girl Macgreegor’s mashed on — 
an’ I ” 

Christina stamped her foot. “ Clear oot, I tell 


ye! 


“ — I wudna be Macgreegor for a thoosan’ 
pounds! Keep yer hair on, miss. I’ll gang when 

it suits me. Ye’ve got to hear ” 

“ I’ll no’ listen.” She put her hands to her ears. 
“ Thon girl, Jessie Mary, took a rise oot o’ ye 
last week, an’ it was me that put her up to it. 
Macgreegor gi’ed her the belt, richt enough, but 

that was afore he got saft on you ” 

“ Silence ! I cannot hear a word you say,” 
declared Christina, recovering herself and her 
more formal speech, though her colour, which had 
faded, now bloomed again. 

“ I’ll cry it loud, if ye like, so as the folk in the 
street can hear. But ye can pretend ye dinna 
hear,” he said ironically. “ I’m no’ heedin’ 


whether ye hear or no’.” 

“ I wish you would go away, you impertinent 
thing! ” 


Courtin' Christina 


153 


Macgreegor ” he began. 

Once more she covered her ears. 

“ Macgreegor/' proceeded Willie, with a rude 
wink, ‘‘ never had ony notion o’ takin’ Jessie Mary 
to the dance. She was jist coddin’ ye, though I 
daursay she was kin’ o’ jealous because ye had cut 
her oot. So I think ye should mak’ it up wi’ Mac- 
greegor when ye get the chance. He’s awfu’ saft 

on ye. I wudna be him for a ” 

“Go away!” said Christina. “You’re simply 
wasting your breath.” 

“ Dinna let on to Macgreegor that I tell’t ye,” 
he continued, unmoved, “ an, if Jessie Mary tries it 
on again, jist you put yer finger to yer nose at her.” 

“If you don’t go at once. I’ll ” 

“ Oh, ye canna dae onything, miss. I’ll forgi’e 
ye for that scud ye gi’ed me, but I wud advise ye 
no’ to be so quick wi’ yer ban’s in future, or ye’ll 
maybe get into trouble.” He turned towards the 
door. “ I daursay ye ken fine that Macgreegor 

watches ye leavin’ the shop every nicht ” 

“ What are you talking about? ” 

“ Gi’e him a whistle or a wave the next time. 
There’s nae use in bein’ huffy.” 

“ That’s enough ! ” 

Willie opened the door. “ An’ ye best hurry up, 
or ye’ll maybe loss him. So long. I’ll no’ tell 
him I seen ye blushin’.” 


154 Courtin' Christina 

Christina opened her mouth, but ere she could 
speak, with a grin and a wink he was gone. She 
collapsed upon the stool. She had never been so 
angry in her life — at least, so she told herself. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


John Robinson and his son sat on a pile of tim- 
ber at the docks. Dusk was falling, and the air 
that had been mild for the season was growing chill. 

John replaced his watch in his pocket. “ It’s 
cornin’ on for tea-time. Are ye ready for the 
road, Macgreegor ? ” 

** Ay,” said the boy, without stirring. 

For two hours he had been struggling to utter the 
words on which he believed his future depended. 

Weel,” said John, getting out his pipe prepara- 
tory to lighting it on passing the gate, “ we best be 
movin’.” 

It was now or never. Macgregor cleared his 
throat. 

“ The pentin’ trade’s rotten,” he said in a voice 
not his own. 

“ Eh ? ” said John, rather staggered by the 
statement which was without relevance to any of 
the preceding conversation. What’s rotten aboot 
it?” 

“ Everything.” 


155 


156 Courtin^ Christina 

That’s the first I’ve heard o’ ’t. In fac’, I’m 
tell’t the pentin’ trade is extra brisk the noo.” 

‘‘ That’s no’ what I meant,” Macgregor forced 
himself to say. I meant it was a rotten trade to 
be in.” 

John gave a good-humoured laugh. “ Oh, I 
see! Ye dinna like the overtime! Aweel, that’s 
nateral at your age, Macgreegor ” — he patted his 
son’s shoulder — ‘‘ but when ye’re aulder, wi’ a 
wife an’ weans, maybe, ye’ll be gled o’ overtime 
whiles, I’m thinkin’.” 

It’s no the overtime,” said Macgregor. 

“ What is’t, then ? What’s wrang wi’ the 
trade ? ” The question was lightly put. 

‘‘ There’s — there’s nae prospec’s in it for a 
man.” 

‘‘Nae prospec’s! Hoots, Macgreegor! there’s 
as guid prospec’s in the pentin’ as in ony ither 
trade. Dinna fash yer heid aboot that — no’ but 
what I’m pleased to ken ye’re thinkin’ aboot yer 
prospec’s, ma son. But we’ll speak aboot it on the 
road hame.” 

“ I wish,” said Macgregor, with the greatest 
effort of all, “ I wish I had never gaed into it. I 
wish I had gaed into Uncle Purdie’s business.” 

John sat down again. At last he said: “D’ye 
mean that, Macgreegor?” 

“ Ay, I mean it.” 


C ourtin' C hristina 


157 


For the first time within his memory John Robin- 
son felt disappointed — in a vague fashion, it is 
true, yet none the less unpleasantly disappointed — 
in his son. 

But ye’ve been at the pentin’ for three year,” 
he said a little impatiently. 

“ I ken that, fayther.” 

“ An’ ye mind ye had the chance o’ gaun into yer 
uncle’s business when ye left the schule? ” 

‘‘ Ay.” 

But ye wud ha’e naething but the pentin’.” 

Macgregor nodded. 

“ Maybe ye mind that yer Aunt Purdie was unco 
offended, for it was her notion — at least, it was 
her that spoke aboot it — an’ she declared ye wud 
never get a second chance. D’ye no’ mind, Mac- 
greegor ? ” 

“ I mind aboot her bein’ offended, but I dinna 
mind aboot — the ither thing,” Macgregor an- 
swered dully. 

But / mind it, for she was rale nesty to yer 
mither at the time. In fac’, I dinna ken hoo yer 
mither stood her impiddence. An’, in a way, it 
was a’ ma fau’t, for it was me that said ye was to 
choose the trade that ye liked best — an’ I thocht 
I was daein’ the richt thing, because I had seen 
lads spiled wi’ bein’ forced into trades they didna 
fancy. Ay, I thocht I was daein’ the richt thing 


158 


Courtin' Christina 


• An’ noo ye’re tellin’ me I did the wrang 

thing.” 

“ Fayther, it’s me that’s to blame. I — I didna 
mean to vex ye.” 

“Aweel, I dinna suppose ye did,” said John 
sadly. ‘‘ But for the life o’ me I canna see hoo ye 
can hope to get into yer uncle’s business at this time 
o’ day. . . . But we’ll be keepin’ yer mither 
waitin’.” 

He rose slowly and Macgregor joined him. At 
the gate John apparently forgot to light his pipe. 
They were half way home ere he spoke. 

He put his hand round his son’s arm. “ Ye’re 
no’ to think, Macgreegor, that I wud stan’ in yer 
road when ye want to better yersel’. No’ likely! 
I never was set on bein’ a wealthy man masel’, but 
naethin’ wud mak’ me prooder nor to see you gang 
up in the world; an’ I can say the same for yer 
mither. An’ I can see that ye micht gang far in 
yer uncle’s business, for yer uncle was aye fond o’ 
ye, an’ I think ye could manage to please him at yer 
work, if ye was tryin’. But — ye wud need yer 
aunt’s favour to begin wi’, an’ that’s the bitter 
truth, an’ she’s no’ the sort o’ body that forgets 
what she conseeders an affront. Weel, it’ll need 
some thinkin’ ower. I’ll ha’e to see what yer 
mither says. An’ ye best no’ expec’ onything. 
Stick to the pentin’ in the meantime, an’ be vera 


Courtin' Christina 


159 


certain afore ye quit the trade yeVe in. That’s a’ 
I can say, ma son.” 

Macgregor had no words then. Never before 
had his father seriously spoken at such length to 
him. His heart was heavy, troubled about many 
things. 

Eight o’clock on Monday night saw him at the 
accustomed spot; on Wednesday night also he was 
there. If only Christina had been friends with 
him he would have asked her what he ought to do. 
Yet the mere glimpse of her confirmed him in his 
desire to change his trade. On the Wednesday 
night it seemed to him that she walked away from 
the shop much more slowly than usual, and the 
horrid thought that she might be giving some other 
“ man ” a chance to overtake her assailed him. 
But at last she was gone without that happening. 

On the way home he encountered Jessie Mary. 
She greeted him affably, and he could not but stop. 

“ Lovely dance on Friday. Ye should ha’e been 
there. Ma belt was greatly admired,” she re- 
marked. 

“Was it?” 

“ I think I’ve seen the shop where ye bought it,” 
she said, watching his face covertly. 

“ It’s likely,” he replied, without emotion. 

Jessie Mary was relieved; evidently he was with- 


i6o 


Courtin' Christina 


out knowledge of her visit to the shop. Now that 
the world was going well with her again she bore 
no ill-will, and was fain to avoid any. For at the 
eleventh hour — or, to be precise, the night before 
the dance — she had miraculously won back the 
allegiance of the young man with the exquisite 
moustache, who served in the provision shop, and 
for the present she was more than satisfied with 
herself. 

So she bade Macgregor good-night, a little 
patronisingly perhaps, and hurried off to reward 
her recovered swain with the pleasant sight of 
herself and an order for a finnan haddie. 

Macgregor was still in the dark as to whether his 
father had mentioned to his mother the subject of 
that conversation at the docks. John had not 
referred to it again, and the boy was beginning to 
wonder if his case was hopeless. 

On the Friday night, however, just when he was 
about to slip from the house, his mother followed 
him to the door. Very quietly she said: 

When ye come in, Macgreegor, I want ye to 
tell me if ye’re still set on leavin’ the pentin’. 
Dinna tell me noo. Tak’ yer walk, an’ think it 
ower, seriouslike. But dinna be late, laddie.” 

She went back to the kitchen, leaving him to shut 
the door. 

It was not much after seven o’clock, but he went 


Courtin' Christina 


i6i 


straightway in the direction of M. Tod’s shop. 
For the first time in what seemed an age, he found 
himself at the familiar, glittering window. And 
lo! the glazed panel at the back was open a few 
inches. Quickly he retreated to the edge of the 
pavement, and stood there altogether undecided. 
But desire drew him, and gradually he approached 
the window again. 

Christina was sitting under the lamp, at the desk, 
her pretty profile bent over her writing, her fair 
plait falling over the shoulder of her scarlet shirt. 
She was engaged in pencilling queer little marks on 
paper, and doing so very rapidly. Macgregor 
understood that she was practising shorthand. No 
doubt she would be his uncle’s private secretary 
some day, while he 

All at once it came to him that no one in the 
world could answer the great question but Chris- 
tina. If the thing didn’t matter to Christina, it 
didn’t matter to him; it was for her sake that he 
would strive to be “ guid enough yet,” not for the 
sake of being “ guid enough ” in itself. Besides, 
she had put the idea into his head. Surely she 
would not refuse to speak to him on that one 
subject. 

Now all this was hardly in accordance with the 
brave and independent plan which Macgregor had 
set out to follow — to wit, that he would not 


Courtin* Christina 


162 


attempt to speak to Christina until he could an- 
nounce that he was a member of his uncle’s staff. 
Yes, love is the great maker of plans — also, the 
great breaker. 

Coward or not, it took courage to enter the shop. 

Christina looked up, her colour deepening 
slightly. 

Hullo,” she said coolly, though not coldly. 

It was not a snub anyway, and Macgregor 
walked up to the counter. He came to the point 
at once. 

Wud ye advise me to try an’ get a job frae ma 
uncle ? ” he said, distinctly enough. 

‘^Me?” The syllable was fraught with intense 
astonishment. 

Ye advised me afore to try it,” he said, fairly 
steadily. 

“ Did I ? ” — carelessly. 

It was too much for him. “ Oh, Christina ! ” he 
whispered reproachfully. 

‘‘ Well, I’m sure it’s none of my business. I 
thought you preferred being a painter.” 

The pity was that Christina should have just then 
remembered the existence of such a person as 
Jessie Mary, also the fact of her own slow walk 
from the shop the previous night. Yet she had 
forgotten both when she opened the panel at the 
back of the window a few inches. And perhaps 


Courtin' Christina 


163 


she was annoyed with herself, knowing that she 
was not behaving quite fairly. 

He let her remark concerning his preference for 
the painting pass, and put a very direct question. 

“ What made ye change yer mind aboot me that 
night ? ” 

“ What night ? ’’ she asked flippantly, and told 
herself it was the silliest thing she had ever uttered. 

She had gone too far — she saw it in his face. 

‘‘ I didna think ye was as bad as that,’^ he said 
in a curiously hard voice, and turned from the 
counter. 

Quick anger — quick compunction — quick fear 
— and then : 

“ Mac!” 

He wheeled at the door. She was holding out 
her hand. Her smile was frail. 

Are ye in earnest ? ” he said in a low voice, 
but he did not wait for her answer. 

She drew away her hand, gently. “ Dinna ask 
me ony questions,” she pleaded. “I — I didna 
really mean what I said that night, or this night 
either. I think I was off my onion ” — a faint 
laugh — ‘‘but I’m sorry I behaved the way I did. 
Is that enough ? ” 

It was more than enough; how much more he 
could not say. “ I’ve missed ye terrible,” he 
murmured. 


164 


Courtin' Christina 


Christina became her practical self. So ye're 
for tryin' yer uncle’s business ” she began. 

“ If he’ll gi’e me the chance.” 

‘‘Weel, I’m sure I wish ye the best o’ luck.” 

“ Then ye think I ought to try ? ” This with 
great eagerness. 

‘‘If ye’ve made up yer mind it’s for the best,” 
she answered cautiously. 

He had to be satisfied with that. “ Will I let ye 
ken if it comes off?” 

She nodded. Then she glanced at her watch. 

“ Can — can I get walkin’ hame wi’ ye, Chris- 
tina?” It was out before he knew. 

She shook her head. “ Uncle said he wud come 
for me; he had some business up this way. If ye 
wait a minute, ye’ll see him. I’ll introduce ye. 
He’ll be interested seein’ ye’re a nephew o’ Mr. 
Purdie.” 

“ Oh, I couldna. I best hook it. But, Chrisr 
tina, I can come to-morrow, eh ? ” 

She laughed. “ I canna prevent ye. But I’ll 
no’ be here in the afternoon. Uncle’s takin’ auntie 
an’ me to a matinee, an’ Til no’ be back much afore 
six.” 

“ Weel, I’ll meet ye at eight an’ walk hame wi’ 
ye.” 

“Will ye?” 

“ Oh, Christina, say ‘ ay.’ ” 


C ourtin' C hristina 


“ I’ll consider it.” 

And he had to be satisfied with that, too, for 
at this point the noisy door opened to admit a 
tall, clean-shaven, pleasant-featured man of middle- 
age. 

‘‘ Hullo, uncle ! ” cried Christina. 

Macgregor fled, but not without gaining a quick 
smile that made all the difference in the world to 
him. 

Ten minutes later he hurried into the home 
kitchen. 

“ Mither, I’ve decided to leave the pentin’.” 
The moment he said it his heart misgave him, and 
the colour flew to his face. But he need not have 
doubted his parents. 

'' Weel, ma son,” said John soberly, ‘‘ we’ll dae 
the best we can wi’ yer Aunt Purdie.” 

‘‘ Jist that,” said Lizzie. 

And that was all. 

An urgent piece of work had to be done the 
following afternoon, and he was later than usual, 
for a Saturday, in getting home. He found his 
mother preparing to go out, and his father looking 
strangely perplexed. 

She’s gaun to see yer Aunt Purdie,” said John 
in a whisper. 

Macgregor looked from one to the other, hesi- 


1 66 Courtin' Christina 


tated, and went over to Lizzie. He put his hand 
on her arm. 

Mither, ye’re no’ to gang. I ■ — I’ll gang 
masel’.” 

Then, indeed, Lizzie Robinson perceived that 
her boy was in danger of becoming a man. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


To press the little black button at the door of 
his aunt’s handsome west-end flat was the biggest 
thing Macgregor had ever done. As a small boy 
he had feared his Aunt Purdie, as a schoolboy he 
had hated her, as a youth he had despised her; his 
feelings towards her now were not to be described, 
but it is certain that they included a well-nigh 
overpowering sense of dread; indeed, the faint 
thrill of the electric bell sent him back a pace 
towards the stair. His state of perspiration gave 
place to one of miserable chillness. 

A supercilious servant eyed his obviously 
‘‘ good ” clothes and bade him wait. Nevertheless, 
a sting was what Macgregor needed just then; it 
roused the fighting spirit. When the servant re- 
turned, and in an aloof fashion — as though, after 
all, it was none of her business — suggested that 
he might enter, he was able to follow her across 
the hall, with its thick rugs and pleasantly warm 
atmosphere, to the drawing-room, without falter- 
ing. Less than might have been expected the 
grandeur of his surroundings impressed — or 
167 


i68 


Courtin* Christina 


depressed — him, for in the course of his trade he 
had grown familiar with the houses of the rich. 
But he had enough to face in the picture without 
looking at the frame. 

Mrs. Purdie was seated at the side of the glow- 
ing hearth, apparently absorbed in the perusal of a 
charitable society’s printed list of donations. 

‘‘ Your nephew, ma’am,” the servant respectfully 
announced and retired. 

Mrs. Purdie rose in a manner intended to be 
languid. Macgregor had not seen the large yet 
angular figure for two years. With his hat in his 
left hand he went forward holding out his right. 
A stiff, brief handshake followed. 

Well, Macgregor, this is quite an unexpected 
pleasure,” she said, unsmiling, resuming her seat. 

Take a chair. It is a considerable period since 
I observed you last.” Time could not wither the 
flowers of language for Mrs. Purdie. “ You are 
getting quite a big boy. How old are you now? 
Are your parents in good health ? ” She did not 
wait for answers to these inquiries. “ I am sorry 
your uncle is not at home. His commercial pur- 
suits confine him to his new and commodious 
premises even on Saturday afternoons.” (At that 
moment Mr. Purdie was smoking a pipe in the 
homely parlour of Christina’s uncle, awaiting his 
old friend’s return from the theatre.) ‘‘His 


Courtin' Christina 


169 


finance is exceedingly high at present.” With a 
faint smack of her lips she paused, and cast an 
inquiring glance at her visitor. 

Macgregor saw the ice, so to speak, before him. 
The time had come. But he did not go tapping 
round the edge. Gathering himself together, he 
leaped blindly. 

In a few ill-chosen words he blurted out his 
petition. 

Then there fell an awful silence. And then — 
he could hardly believe his own ears! 

There are people in the world who seem hope- 
lessly unloveable until you — perforce, perhaps — 
ask of them a purely personal favour. There may 
even be people who leave the world with their 
fountains of goodwill still sealed simply because 
no one had the courage or the need to break the 
seals for them. Until to-day the so-called favours 
of Aunt Purdie had been mere patronage and cash 
payments. 

Even now she could not help speaking patronis- 
ingly to Macgregor, but through the patronage 
struggled a kindliness and sympathy of which her 
relations so long used to her purse-pride, her affec- 
tations, her absurdities, could never have imagined 
her capable. She made no reference to the past; 
she suggested no difficulties for the present ; she cast 
no doubts upon the future. Her nephew, she de- 


170 Courtin' Christina 

dared, had done wisely in coming to her; she 
would see to it that he got his chance. It seemed 
to Macgregor that she promised him ten times all 
he would have dreamed of asking. Finally she 
bade him stay to dinner and see his uncle ; then per- 
ceiving his anxiety to get home and possibly, also, 
his dread of offending her by expressing it, she 
invited him for the following Sunday evening, and 
sent him off with a full heart and a light head. 

He burst into the kitchen, bubbling over with 
his wonderful news. During its recital John gave 
vent to noisy explosions of satisfaction, Jeannie 
beamed happily, Jimsie stared at his transformed 
big brother, and Lizzie, though listening with all 
her ears, began quietly to prepare her son's tea. 

“ An' so she treated ye weel, Macgreegor," said 
John, rubbing his hands, while the speaker paused 
for words. 

She did that ! An* I'm to get dooble the 
wages I'm gettin* the noo, an' I've to spend the 
half o' them on night classes, for, ye see, I'm to 
learn everything aboot the business, an' then " 

Said Lizzie gently : ‘‘ Wud ye like yer egg biled 
or fried, dearie? " 

* * ♦ 5*: J|c 

It was nearly eight o'clock when he reached the 
shop, and he decided to wait at a short distance 


C ourtin' C Kristina lyi 

from the window until Christina came out. He 
was not going to risk interruption by the old woman 
or a late customer; he would tell his wonderful 
tale in the privacy of the busy pavement, under 
the secrecy of the noisy street. Yet he was desper- 
ately impatient, and with every minute after the 
striking of the hour a fresh doubt assailed him. 

At last the lights in the window went out, and 
the world grew brighter. Presently he was mov- 
ing to meet her, noting dimly that she was wearing 
a bigger hat than heretofore. 

She affected surprise at the sight of him, but 
not at his eagerly whispered announcement: 

“Pve got it!’’ 

‘‘ Good for you,” she said kindly, and refrained 
from asking him, teasingly, where he thought he 
was going. ** It was lovely at the theatre,” she 
remarked, stepping forward. 

Dae ye no’ want to hear aboot it?” he asked, 
disappointed, catching up with her. 

“ Of course,” she said cheerfully. ‘‘ Was yer 
uncle nice ? ” 

It was ma aunt,” he explained somewhat reluc- 
tantly, for he feared she might laugh. But she 
only nodded understandingly, and, relieved, he 
plunged into details. 

“ Ye’ve done fine,” she said when he had finished 
— for the time being, at anyrate. Pm afraid 


172 


Courtin' Christina 


it’ll be you that’ll be wantin’ a private secretary 
when I get that length.” 

“ Dinna laugh at me,” he murmured reproach- 
fully. 

** Dinna be ower serious, Mac,” she returned. 

Ye’ll get on a’ the better for bein’ able to tak’ a 
joke whiles. I’m as pleased as Punch aboot 
it.” 

He was more pleased, if possible. ‘‘If it hadna 
been for you, Christina, I wud never ha’e had the 
neck to try it,” he said warmly. 

“ I believe ye ! ” she said quaintly. 

“ But it’s the truth — an’ I’ll never forget it.” 

“ A guid memory’s a gran’ thing ! An’ when 
dae ye start wi’ yer uncle?” 

“ Monday week.” 

“ That’s quick work. Ye’ve beat me a’ to 
sticks. Dinna get swelled heid ! ” 

“ Christina, I wish ye wudna ” 

“ I canna help it. It’s the theatre, I suppose. 
Oh, I near forgot to tell ye, yer uncle was in when 
we got hame frae the theatre. I hadna time to 
speak to him, for I had to run back to the shop. 
Hadna even time to change ma dress. I think yer 
uncle whiles gets tired o’ bein’ a rich man an’ livin’ 
in a swell house. Maybe you'll feel that way some 
day.” 

He let her run on, now and then glancing wist- 


Courtin' Christina 


173 


fully at her pretty, animated face. The happiness, 
the triumph, he had anticipated were not his. But 
all the more they were worth working for. 

So they came to the place where she lived. 

“ Come up,” she said easily ; “ I tell’t auntie I 
wud maybe bring ye up for supper.” 

Doubtless it was the shock of gratification as 
much as anything that caused him to hang back. 
She had actually mentioned him to her aunt! 

“ Will ma uncle be there ? ” he stammered at last. 

Na, na. Ye’ll see plenty o’ him later on! ” 

“ Maybe yer aunt winna be pleased ” 

‘^Come on, Mac! Ye’re ower shy for this 
world ! ” she laughed encouragingly. 

They went up together. 

Christina had a latch-key, and on opening the 
door, said: 

‘‘ Oh, they haven’t come home yet. Out for a 
walk, I suppose. But they’ll be home in a minute. 
Come in. There’s a peg for your hat.” 

She led the way into a fire-lit room and turned 
up the gas. Macgregor saw a homely, cosy 
parlour, something like his grandfather’s at Rothe- 
say, but brighter generally. A round table was 
trimly laid for supper. In the window a small 
table supported a typewriter and a pile of printed 
and manuscript books, the sight of which gave him 
a sort of sinking feeling. 


m 


Courtin' Christina 


Sit down,” she said, indicating an easy-chair. 

Auntie and uncle won’t be long.” 

He took an ordinary chair, and tried hard to look 
at his ease. 

As she took off her hat at the mirror over the 
mantelpiece she remarked : ‘‘ You’ll like uncle at 

once, and you’ll like auntie before long. She’s still 
a wee bit prim.” 

He noticed that her speech had changed with 
entering the house, but somehow the genteel 
English ” did not seem so unnatural now. He 
supposed he would have to learn to speak it, too, 
presently. 

“ But she is the best woman in the world,” 
Christina continued, patting her hair, ‘‘ and she’ll 
be delighted about you going into your uncle’s busi- 
ness. I think it was splendid of you managing 
your aunt so well.” 

Macgregor smiled faintly. “ I doobt it was her 
that managed me,” he said. ‘‘ But, Christina, I’ll 
no’ let her be sorry — nor — nor you either.” 

Oh, I’m sure you’ll get on quickly,” she said, 
gravely, bending to unbutton her long coat. 

“ I intend to dae that,” he cried, uplifted by her 
words. Gi’e me a year or twa, an’ I’ll show ye ! ” 

She slipped out of the coat, and stood for a 
moment, faintly smiling, in her best frock, a simple 
thing of pale grey lustre relieved with white, her 


Courtin* Christina 


175 


best black shoes, her best thread stockings, her 
heavy yellow plait over her left shoulder. 

The boy caught his breath. 

“ Just a minute,’^ she said, and left the room to 
put away her coat and hat. 

Macgregor half turned in his chair, threw his 
arms upon the back and pressed his brow to his 
wrist. 

So she found him on her return. 

“ Sore head, Mac ? ” she asked gently, recovering 
from her surprise, and going close to him. 

“ Let me gang,” he whispered ; “ I — Fll never 
be guid enough.” 

The slight sound of a key in the outer door 
reached the girFs ears. She gave her eyes an im- 
patient little rub. 

She laid a hand on his shoulder. 

‘‘ Cheer up ! ” she said, almost roughly, and 
stooping quickly, she touched her lips to his hair, 
so lightly, so tenderly, that he was not aware. 








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